


Rocket Man

by huhwhat



Category: Game Grumps, Ninja Sex Party - Fandom, Skyhill (Band)
Genre: And also all the emotions, Angst, Anxiety, Childhood Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional smut FTW, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, He's such a good fucking guy, Heartbreak, Hope you like dialogue, Hurt/Comfort, It's not all painful I swear, Mental Health Issues, NSP, Ninjasexparty - Freeform, Parenthood, References to Depression, Reuniting old loves, Smut, You and Dan have so much history holy shit, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-07-03 22:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huhwhat/pseuds/huhwhat
Summary: You and Dan didn't work out.Deep down, you'd both always known this would be the case. It was nobody's fault, really, but in the interest of self-preservation, you cut all ties with him. Nineteen years swept under the rug.But it's five years later and an exploding water pipe, of all things, is forcing him back into your life. You couldn't be more ashamed of how terrified you are. Are you strong enough to handle a reunion with the man who'd once been the most important person in your world? What about when feelings you'd long since banished begin to stir once again?





	1. Oh, Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading!
> 
> Heads up - there are a small handful of minor original characters who are integral to the plot but not heavily featured after this first chapter. They're all introduced here, though, so you won't have to continuously keep track of a bunch of new people. Bear with me through this awkward expositional bullshit!
> 
> Also, I conceptualized this story in October of 2017, so anything that's happened since then IRL won't be featured here :-P
> 
> Also also, Dan is a real person with real feelings. The figure in my story is just my own fictional version of this real person with real feelings. I do not own this person, and everything I write is fictional. Fucking CHRIST, I hope he never sees this.

 

*2017*

 You cover a lot of ground for someone with such short legs.

You’re barreling down the sidewalk with three packages under your arms and your phone trapped between your chin and your shoulder, watching for concrete made uneven by subterranean tree roots while listening to your four year old chatter about her day at preschool. To be honest, at the moment you feel a more like a superhero than you do a P.A.

“-and then Hayden and I shared the finger paints ‘cept she drew an elephant and I drew an owl.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask, losing yourself in the Seattle foot traffic as you wait for a walk signal. “Do I get to see it?”

“It has to dry first, Mama.” Her light exasperation is evident even through miles of phone line.

“Right, right.” One more block to your work. “Moira, love, I need to go in a sec. Can you please hand it back to Grandma?”

“Okay!”

“I love you, sweetie.”

“I love _you_ , Mama,” she chirps, and your heart does a little squeezy thing in your ribs. “Here’s Grandma.”

There’s a great roaring and clattering as the device changes hands.

“Hi, hon. We’re about to head to the grocery store, but we’ll be back long before you get here.”

“Thanks, Mom. I shouldn’t be any later than 6. See you in a few hours?”

“See you soon, honey. Bye!”

You reach the doors of the quiet venue and rest the packages on your knee, balanced precariously against the wall for the three seconds it takes to peel your phone from your hot ear and shove it into your pocket.

The lit-for-ambiance stairs inside are much more difficult to navigate half-blind than the sidewalk, but you make it to your boss’s office with no mishaps outside of a couple gentle wall bumps.

“Uh-huh,” Jamie says into the phone as you step in the door. “Right, that’s all we need, I think.”

With great care you set the packages on the coffee table, and when you do her head snaps up.

Her eyes are wide, dancing with a strange sort of manic glee. She flaps a hand at you, then makes a frantic scribble motion in the air.

You dive for the calendar and snatch a pen from the table.

“Yes. Alright, so contract review and sound check on September 26…”

You fill in that day’s square, which had previously been empty.

“…and the show on the 27th. Yes, of course,” she says in the firm and polite tone she uses for business. It’s pitched just a little lower than her normal voice. “Alright. We look forward to meeting you all. Have a good rest of your day.”

She slams the handset onto the receiver, eyes sparkling.

“You’ll never guess.”

“Probably not.” You grin, a giddiness bubbling up inside you. “What? Who is it?”

She comes around the front of her desk and perches herself on top.

“The Paramount’s water damage is more significant than they’d initially thought. They’re not going to have everything finished by the 27th, so…” she cocks her head to the side, “…guess who gets to host their _sold-out_ performers for that night?”

Your jaw drops.

“Jesus christ, Jamie, for real?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh my god.” Your drop onto the arm of the couch is a little harder than you intend it to be. “Is it for sure?”

“I mean, I have to meet with the Paramount’s people tomorrow, but it’s pretty much set.”

“Do we have enough seats?!”

Jamie laughs an exhilarated laugh that rings throughout the small office.

“Why are you trying to poke holes in this thing? We’ll have to have Chris and Lori take out the floor seats for Gen Ad, but we’ll have enough.”

“Oh my god.” A thrilling tangle of nerves and excitement dances and flutters in your stomach.

“Think of the publicity this will get us,” she whispers, leaning in. “I mean, I feel _terrible_ for the Paramount, but…reliable Seattle staple fails and who should come to the rescue?”

“Our little shit sack of a venue?” you chuckle.

“Well, this little shit sack’s about to host a sold-out show next week.”

“Wow,” you breathe.

“Wow is right, girl.”

“Who’s the artist?” you ask, pen poised over the calendar again. “Who’s getting the city’s hand-me-downs?”

Calling the theater Jamie manages a “shit sack” is a slight exaggeration. It’s not very pretty, but it’s clean and it’s functional and the recently-redone water pipes don’t burst in the middle of the night. It’s small, though, and the movie theater-turned-performance space had only been reopened as such a handful of years ago so you don’t have quite the exposure or history of longstanding Seattle venues. Because of this, you guys book mostly local community theater productions and up-and-coming artists…some of whom have gone on to achieve fame far beyond this venue’s level.

Jamie glances at her furiously scratched notes, and her thoughtful frown dissolves as she starts chuckling.

“They’re called Ninja Sex Party.”

The pen falls from your hand, scrawling a sputtering black line across September.

“They’re a comedy band, if you couldn’t guess. Pretty goddamn big following, it sounds like,” she continues, sliding off her desk and approaching the coffee table where the packages still lay as you’d set them two minutes prior.

How you wish you could go back those two minutes and smack the phone from her hand.

“Thanks so much for picking these up for me," she groans, stacking the parcels. "You’re a lifesaver.”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

You can’t breathe, either.

There’s no air left in your lungs or blood in your face, and your body is stiff and motionless, but inside your head your brain is exploding in panic.

“You okay, (y/n)?” Jamie asks, moving into your line of vision where it’s fixed, frozen, on the opposite wall. “To be completely cliché for a second, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

 _‘Not yet, I haven’t,’_ you think, forcing a ragged inhale through a tight throat.

“I-uh…” you stutter weakly, blinking yourself back to life, “…I’m okay.” You plunge your hand between the couch cushions to retrieve the pen you’d dropped, more for distraction than for anything else.

“Is there a problem with the band?” she asks softly, and as always you’re taken aback by both her kindness and her intuition. This is the woman who’d hired you – lots of musical knowledge, zero musical experience – at your personal rock bottom. She’d been your first friend in town, and a solid source of support ever since. She’d think twice about signing the contract, and you know it.

“No, no, I just-…” You struggle for the right words as you yank the cushions off the frame. “I used to know them.”

At the very edge of your field of vision, you see her eyebrows raise.

“Did you?”

“I had a falling out with one of them, and-…we haven’t really talked since.” You’re aware of the tremor in your voice, but you don’t realize that your hands are shaking as well until you try to pick the pen up again. “It’s fine, though, really.”

_‘We both know we need this opportunity.’_

A gentle hand on your shoulder makes your raw and screaming nerves jump with a start.

“(y/n),” she says, looking you dead in the eye.

“I’m sure, Jamie. It was a long time ago.” You force a smile and, as if to prove a point, scribble ‘Ninja Sex Party’ on 9/26 and 9/27. “There. See? No take-backsies.” The online calendar and social media accounts would wait until the swap was officially official, so you had another day before you had to handle that shit.

Her smile is sympathetic and skeptical, and she pats your shoulder again.

“I’m gonna go take my lunch,” you squeak, backing out of reach as you avoid her scrutinizing gaze.

“Please.”

 

****************

 

Trembling fingers struggle to grip the handle of the carafe as coffee sloshes down the sides of your cat mug.

‘ _Fuck. FUCK. Fuck. Fuck. Fu-_ ‘

“You okay?”

You spin around, and the remainder of the coffee splashes gleefully onto the break room counter top.

“You want to talk about it?” Jamie asks, leaning against the break room door frame.

No. No you don’t.

But she’s your friend and you trust her. On top of that, she’s your boss and she’s going to need to know why you’ll be acting so fucking weird for the next week.

There’s a moment of thoughtful silence while you grab a dish towel and begin mopping up your mess. She crouches to help you.

“Yeah, so-….” you falter, clenching your fists on your pants to still them. “He’s an ex of mine.”

Her eyes brighten as she tosses the rag into the sink.

“Ooh, is it the guy who would snort coke in your bathroom? Or the one who didn’t know Alaska’s not an island?” she cackles. “Oh, no, wait, it’s not Booger Guy, is it?”

You suddenly regret all the tipsy heart-to-hearts during Moira’s monthly Grandma Weekends.

“I’m glad you’re getting so much out of this,” you mumble.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” she says, her voice softening. “……Is it Booger Guy, though?”

“Would I be reacting like this if Booger Guy was coming?”

“Good point. Who, then?”

Fighting a sigh, you sink into a chair.

“I don’t-…really talk about this one.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Not uh-oh, really. It’s just that-…this one hurts to talk about, I guess.”

“I won’t pry, then,” she says, plopping down into the chair across from you. “But tell me this – do I need to have somebody beat him up?”

This coaxes a grateful grin out of you.

“No, no, he’s one of the good guys.” You hesitate before adding, “We were engaged, actually.”

“You were engaged?! I didn’t know that!” You pick up on the very subtle hurt in her eyes, but she’s a kind person and she knows not to make this about herself, so she hides it well.

“It was forever ago. I’m sorry I never told you.” You glance over your shoulder as the laughter of other employees in the hallway drifts closer.

“You’re not obligated to tell me shit. And like I said, I won’t pry.” She smiles. “But you know I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you, Jamie. That means a lot to me.”

“Would you tell me if it _was_ Booger Guy, though?”

 

**************

 

Although you’d been expecting the call at any minute, the vibration from your phone on the desk still startles you.

“Hey again, Mom,” you greet her, tucking the phone under your jaw as you resume filing paperwork. “Is Mo okay?” This is a courtesy, really. You know perfectly well why she’s actually calling.

“She’s fine, honey. I just wanted to let you know that Danny called me just now and said he’s going to be in town to perform at your venue.”

“I heard.”

“He and I are going to breakfast, and you’re more than welcome to come.”

“Thank you, but I’m busy.”

“I didn’t give you a day or a time.”

“I’m busy, Mom.”

“Are you sure?”

“In five years, have I ever said yes to that invitation?”

 “Enough time has passed, honey,” she argues. “Don’t you think you can be friends again? Don’t you miss him? I can tell he misses you.”

“It’s just better this w-“

“He talks about his nephews with such love. I’m sure he’d love to meet Moira-“

“ _MOM_.”

She falls silent.

“I know you mean well,” you say quietly, guilt over your harsh tone gnawing at your insides. “I can’t come to breakfast, alright?”

“Okay, I tried,” she sighs. “You know that sweet boy manages to make time for me every time he’s in town?”

“I know.”

Oh, you know. You know because you’d managed to _avoid_ him every time he’d come to Seattle, no matter how much your mom had begged you to join them. You couldn’t complain too much, though, because the period before a visit was really the only time she’d ever badger you about him. She mostly kept their closeness on the down-low and respected your wish for distance.

“I’ll leave you with that thought, then,” she says. “But it will be Monday, 8:00AM at Dragonfish, if you change your mind.”

“I won’t, but thanks, Mom.”

 

**********

 

The rest of the work day passes quickly, and though it feels productive, you’re not quite sure how effective your work had actually been with your brain spinning a mile a minute, focused on a certain something that was most definitely not your job.

Before you know it, almost as if you’d blinked and missed most of the day, Moira is getting ready for bed while you wash the dishes from dinner.

Your phone sits on the counter beside the sink. Just like you’ve done all day, you glance at it out of the corner of your eye. And just like you’ve done all day, you ultimately decide not to compose the text you’d been dreading.

Just as you’re finishing rinsing your final fork, though, the screen lights up and you don’t have to make the decision anymore.

_> >>  SO_

Amanda. Old friend, former roommate, and expert bullshit detector.

_> >>  Hey. So._

_> >>  So Danny jesus! Holy shit what is happening_

A solid lump of distress materializes in the pit of your stomach, but you do your best to ignore it as you type out your reply.

_> >>  He told you, then._

_> >>  YEP he called me right after they booked_

_> >>  Jesus fucking christ, Amanda, somehow having you acknowledge it makes it all the more real. _

_> >>  Im assuming thats why 6 hours have passed and you havent mentioned it_

_> >>  Ding, ding, ding.     _

_> >>  How are you feelin though?_

_> >>  Guess._

_> >>  I figured, whats your plan?_

_> >>  I’m mapping out escape routes as we speak._

_> >>  What your just gonna literally avoid him the entire time??_

_> >>  You got a better idea?_

_> >>  Yeah be civil and professional but interact as little as possible. Do your job maybe?_

_> >>  OR, change up my entire routine in order to hide from him. Foolproof. Best offense is a good defense, right?_

_> >>  I see your in a good place_

_> >>  I sense some sarcasm._

_> >>  Your gonna have to see him dude. You have a week to prepare yourself mentally but like your gonna have to see him_

_> >> Okay, Mom.        _

_> >>  Good one_

You crack a smile, in spite of yourself.

_> >>  I’m really scared, man._

_> >>  I know. For real I dont blame you at all. Id probably hide as much as possible too honestly so I support your plan. Five years fuck_

A jolt of fear streaks through your heart.

Five years since the night you handed him back the ring. Five years since you’d seen the man who, for almost 20, had shown you what it meant to be really, completely understood.

_> >>  Five years, holy shit. The super petty part of me wants to ask if he seemed nervous too, but I don’t think I actually want to know the answer and I won’t make you play middle-man. You’ve done enough of that._

_> >>  You dont even know_

You don’t have the chance to boil with guilt over her response because at that moment your daughter’s small, sweet voice drifts in from a room down the hall.

“Mama? I’m ready!”

“I’ll be in in a minute, love. Water?”

“Yes, please!”

_> >>  I need to go read Mo her bedtime story. Thanks for checking in on me, Amanda._

_> >>  No problem. And just because Im his friend too does not mean Im not here for you. Dont worry about middle maning aka tell me EVERYTHING_

_> >>  Will do._

You set the phone back on the counter and pull out a glass, unable to keep the long-buried thoughts from twisting around in your mind once again as you let the tap water get cold.

Neither you nor Danny were particularly stubborn people, but you sure became adept at refusing to acknowledge the threat that had dangled over your lives and your love, a Sword of Damocles ready to fall at any moment. The end of your relationship had been inevitable, really, but neither of you would let go, each holding out hope for a different outcome.

Each holding out hope that the other person would change their mind.

He didn’t. You didn’t.

“Mama?”

The single, plaintive word snaps you back to the present.

“Coming, sweetie.”

You hurriedly fill the glass and make your way down the hall.

A gentle orange glow radiates from her three nightlights, bathing the room in a peaceful warmth. She sits up in her bed expectantly, a fortress of stuffed animals standing at attention along the edge of the mattress. Music, too low for you to identify, spills softly from the hand-me-down iPod dock on her nightstand.

“What’s on the schedule for tonight?” you ask, setting the glass beside her frog lamp as she clears a spot for you.

“I looked and I looked and I couldn’t decide, but then I decided on Grover.” She thrusts The Monster at the End of this Book into your hands. The book falls far below what you know she’s capable of comprehending but it remains one of her longtime favorites, one she continues to go back to between the very short chapter books she often picks.

“Excellent choice.” You stretch out on the bed and, under the covers, she curls her very small body into you. As you begin to read, two things happen: she rests her head on your shoulder, effectively obliterating your heart, and your brain goes quiet and calm.

Before you’re even halfway through the story her head begins to droop and nod, and by the time you reach the end, she’s out.

Carefully, you unhook her arm from your middle and slide away, holding your breath. When she doesn’t stir, you slip off the bed and neatly arrange her plush nighttime defenders back in their designated spots. The bedside lamp makes a small *click* when you turn it off.

As you reach the door, which will stay wide open all night to let in the glow from the hallway nightlight, you turn to take one last look at your little girl’s sleeping form.

You’re well aware that at some point in the night you may be back in, but right now, through the curtain of hair that already obscures her face, you can make out a certain peace in her relaxed features. Your soul suddenly feels very, very full.

Would she ever know that you’d sacrificed a future with the love of your life for her?

Not a fucking chance.

And looking at her now, breathing gently with a stuffed dinosaur ensnared in her arms, you know it was worth it.

 

                         

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah! You made it this far! Thank you for bearing with me. But I know, I know, get to the good stuff. It's coming, I promise.
> 
> Also, I tried to avoid the obnoxiously precocious kid trope but failed miserably. Meh.


	2. 1993

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up - this story will be partially told through flashbacks, so I'll make sure the year is always at the top of the chapter! Hopefully the timeline doesn't throw people too much. :-)
> 
> Also-
> 
> Potential trigger warning: A panic attack featuring depersonalization and derealization is described here. There will probably be a couple of these throughout the story, but I'll put a warning at the beginning of the chapters in which they're featured juuuuuuuuust in case.

 

*1993*

The melodic strains of “Rumpshaker” boom and buzz through the speakers, pulsing into a house overcrowded with teenagers. Many huddle together in small cliques, whispering furiously among themselves in the corners or tittering at the food table, but a brave group of boys and girls dances in the middle of it all.

Well, “dances.”

Feet grind radioactive-orange chips into the carpet as awkward, jerking bodies struggle to keep tempo. Braces, scrunchies, and surreptitious boners abound in this sweaty living room decorated with wilting streamers and a collection of assorted balloons.

It is your personal hell.

You don’t see any of it, though, because you’ve stuffed yourself into a coat closet off the main hallway.

_‘-shouldn’t be here, don’t belong here, need to get out-‘_

You press your hands to the dusty floor to stop their trembling as rhythmic vibrations penetrate the wall behind you.

You don’t know why you came. It’s not even your friend’s birthday party, but instead someone’s older brother’s. And although you’re only sixth graders your small friend group had decided, with hesitant parental permission, to attend. _Prepare ourselves for high school parties_ , they’d reasoned with zero confidence, and you’d stayed quiet. They’re still out there, surrounded by mostly freshmen and probably still hovering, hopelessly lost, around the refreshments.

You’re not lost. You know exactly where you are.

Physically, at least. The coat sleeves grazing your forehead serve as a constant reminder of your loserhood.

Mentally, you’re half-there and half floating on some other plane of existence.

You screw your eyes shut and try to concentrate on the bass thumping against your back rather than on the swimming sensation in your head.

Tag Team, the Spin Doctors, and Ace of Base all vibrate through your body, occasionally in perfect time with the rapid pounding of your heart as your brain spits acid at you.

_‘-wondering why they even wanted you to come, won’t be your friends after tonight, probably never liked you anyway-‘_

A sudden flood of light glows through your closed lids.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I was just- I-I didn’t know-…I’ll leave. I’m sorry.” A pause. “Wait, are you okay?”

You shake your head a little, unable at the moment to communicate verbally with anybody, let alone with this squeaky-voiced stranger.

The light disappears. You’re dimly aware of the hangers that rattle above your head and the coats that shift around your face as this person, to your great surprise, sits on the ground beside you.

“Do you want to hold my hand or something?” There’s a distinct kindness to his cautious tone.

You nod, a sharp, stilted motion that is all you can manage.

A warm hand comes to rest on yours on the floor and you clench it in your shaky grip.

_‘-so pathetic, stranger has to help you, doesn’t even know you, doesn’t want to be in here, feels like he has to, god such a burden on everybody-‘_

You tremble and drift, but this person doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he squeezes it tighter as he sits silently with you in that closet.

 

When at last you float back into the real world, feeling solidly _there_ and tremendously humiliated, you begin to cry before your eyes are even open.

The person next to you carefully stuffs a wad of napkins into the hand that’s not still clinging desperately to his. You press them to your face and take gurgly breaths as tears burn hot on your skin. He continues to hold your hand.

Eventually you gather enough courage and self-possession to crack open your raw, stinging eyes.

Sitting next to you is a vaguely familiar kid, short and scrawny with a firm helmet of what you suspect used to be curls, poorly straightened with a blow dryer and only barely contained. Behind horn-rimmed glasses glow the warmest, kindest brown eyes you’d ever seen. He’s older, though you don’t know by how much.

He smiles at you, and you feel calmer than you did a moment before.

“Hi.”

Immediately disarmed, you laugh a little at his inappropriately casual greeting.

“Hi.” You swipe at your eyes again with the napkins.

“Are you alright?” Genuine concern colors a voice that’s just on the brink of puberty.

Your cheeks flush a radiant red.

“Yes. I’m sorry. That was-…ugh, um-…” You trail off, sheepish.

_‘You’re so freaking weird, and he knows it.’_

“Hey, you totally don’t have to apologize.” He shifts so he can cross his legs in front of him. His feet are comically enormous on his small frame. “It happens to me sometimes too, y’know?”

“What does?”

“Panic attacks?” A look of shame washes over his face a half second into your shocked silence. “Um, did- is that not-“

“Is _that_ what that is?” you whisper, eyes widening in their sockets.

How many years had you been suffering through these? Afraid to tell your mother? Afraid that you were the only one and that there was something broken in your brain?

“I mean, maybe,” he says, sagging with relief that you didn’t seem to think you were in close quarters with a lunatic. “That’s what my parents say I have, at least.”

“It’s really scary,” you croak, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I know. When it happens I just try to remind myself that it’ll end eventually.”

“I can’t really control my thoughts at all when it happens, though.” You frown. “I just keep, like, thinking all these bad things and I can’t stop. Also, um-…what’s your name?”

He giggles a delightful giggle that further soothes your frazzled nerves.

“Sorry. Danny.”

Right. Danny Avidan. His family lived just a block or two from you.

“I’m (y/n). I think your sister’s in my grade.” You steel yourself, picking at your jeans with the tender stubs of your poor, abused nails. “Thank you. For helping me.”

The sincerity and sweetness in his eyes when you meet them again blanket you in a sense of peace, rather than one of raw, shredded exposure like you’d felt minutes before.

“You’re welcome. Uh, sorry I held your hand. If that was weird, I’m-…y’know. That’s what I would want. I hope that wasn’t weird.”

“No, it actually helped a lot,” you assure him. “Thanks. And thanks for sitting with me. You didn’t have to.”

“I didn’t really want to be out there anyway,” he cringes. “Honestly, I was coming in here to hide. I don’t think my friends even know I’m still here.”

“I didn’t want to come,” you say flatly, kicking yourself for agreeing to it in spite of your terror.

“Me neither.” He grins and shakes his head, his glasses slipping down his nose a little as he does. “My friends wanted to brave their first high school party, though.”

 _“_ Ugh. Yep _._ Everybody else wanted to go, sooo… _”_

His brow furrows.

“Wait, you’re not even _in_ high school, though.”

You blush furiously.

“John’s my friend’s older brother. We’re crashing. _”_

He laughs.

“How very brave of you.”

“Do I look freaking brave to you?” You gesture wildly to your surroundings, laughing with him.

That’s when your stomach gurgles loudly above the music, and you die a little of embarrassment.

 “Did you get any pizza?” he asks.

“No. There were a lot of people near the food table and I didn’t want to get in the way.”

 “Yeah. God, yeah, totally,” he says, a bit of surprise tinging his tone. “That’s exactly why I haven’t eaten yet either. But it looked like it was clearing out a little before I came in here, so…cheese or pepperoni?”

“You don’t have to, Danny, I-“ Your stomach gives a great bubbling growl.

“I’m getting some for myself too, I promise.” He smiles. “Cheese or pepperoni?”

You smile too.

“Cheese.”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He jumps up and you realize then just how thin he is. “Unless, I mean, y’know, you want to lea-“

“I’ll wait for you,” you chuckle. “Thank you.”

The small closet briefly floods with light again as he slips out.

 

Although you convince yourself he'd only given an excuse so he can escape your freakish company, he returns two minutes later with not only a stack of cheese pizza that dangerously tests the strength of its greasy paper plate, but also two cans of Pepsi, a slice of Simpsons-themed vanilla birthday cake, two plastic forks, and another wad of napkins. His scrawny arms are full as he pulls the door shut with his foot.

And then the two of you sit there together in the light of a single bare bulb, sharing his food haul as the music thumps and drones in the air around you. Your interactions, to your immense relief, are easy and fluid, and it’s not long before you’re interrupting each other and gasping for air between peals of raucous laughter.

Long before the night ends with your mom giving him a ride home, it’s clear you’ve made a new friend.


	3. A Reunion

*2017*

Your eyes droop as you wait for your mom to answer the door.

“Are you okay, Mama?” Moira asks, gently tugging your hand with the one that’s not clutching her well-loved (and at one point significantly more sparkly) Grandma Weekend bag.

“Yes, love,” you assure her, squeezing her hold gently. “I’m just very sleepy.”

She tilts her head, fine white-blonde hair spilling off of her shoulder.

“Why didn’t you sleep? Did you have scary dreams too?”

“I just have a lot on my mind, sweetie.”

She seems to accept that, thank god. You aren’t about to tell her that you’d been up most of the night – the past few nights, in fact -- with a buzzing brain and an angry gut.

The door swings open, groaning on its hinges.

“Good morning, my babies!” your mom greets you, pulling Moira to her. The bag thuds against the door frame, losing more sparkles to the wood floor, when your daughter wraps her arms around her grandmother’s legs. “So, today’s the day?”

You look her with silent, pleading eyes, and a short, punctuated “yep” is all you’re willing to commit to.

“You’ve got nothing to be worried about, honey,” she chuckles, oblivious. “At breakfast this morning, Danny seemed nervous enough for the both of you.” She smiles warmly and pats your cheek. “But I think he’s quite excited too. Did you eat anything this morning?”

“Yes, Mom,” you lie.

“Who’s Danny?” Moira pipes up, gazing up at the two of you, back and forth between your faces.

The ache in your belly twinges.

“He’s an old friend of mine and Grandma’s, love,” you explain, sweeping her hair back and wishing desperately to fall back into your natural state of never talking about him ever.

 “Why are you nervous to see him?”

You hold in a sigh that your observant kid definitely doesn’t deserve, instead shooting a Look at your mom - who now appears appropriately apologetic.

“It’s been a long time,” you admit, dropping to your knees and cupping her cheek in your hand. “You know how your mama gets kind of scared when I haven’t seen someone in a while?”

“Why has it been so long? Does he live far away?” Her eyes glow with an intelligent curiosity that continues to baffle you day after day.

“Kind of, yes.”

“Oh.” She nods with a thoughtful frown, and despite your frustration you can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth when you see her acting like a tiny human being.

This twinge occurs in your heart instead.

“Okay, I need to get work, sweetie. I love you very much.” You draw her into a tight hug, breathing in the smell of her mango shampoo. “I’ll see you in two days, alright? Two sleeps?” Her tiny arms don’t fit around you. “Be good for your grandma.”

She mumbles her reply into your shoulder.

You thank your mom and take off for what would probably be the most nerve-wracking work day you’d ever have in your lifetime.

 

**********

 

The line at your usual coffee place is shorter than normal, which is fortunate because although you’re only two blocks from work, your shift starts in less than ten minutes.

You scroll through your phone to distract your spinning brain as you wait for your order.

“(y/n).”

The voice that speaks your name is painfully familiar.

It’s not the one you’d been dreading hearing for the past week, but your stomach gives a great leap regardless.

“Brian!”

Intense blue eyes smile at you from underneath bushy brows as he envelops you in a hug. Though your body buzzes with nerves from the unexpected encounter and your face suddenly feels quite warm, you accept and reciprocate happily, slipping under the arm that’s not holding a hot drink.

“How are you?”

“I’m great. Really excited to perform tonight. I’ve heard stoney Seattle hipsters make for a great crowd.” His mouth twitches with a sardonic smirk. “What about you? How the hell are you?” Then he tips his head forward and repeats his question more quietly. “How are you?”

“I’m-…” you grasp for the right words.

“Shitting bricks?” he suggests.

Your order is called.

“The brickiest,” you laugh, retrieving your cup with a quick thank-you.

“I wouldn’t worry yourself about it. He’s-“

“Twenty ounce green tea with lemon and honey?” A barista’s voice interrupts Brian’s thought.

_Twinge._

Brian grabs his second order – the one that’s definitely not for him -- with his free hand and there’s a knowing heaviness in the quiet moment that follows.

“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing to the door with both drinks.

“We shall.”

In the time it takes for the two of you to walk to the venue in a gray drizzle, you chat about Audrey and Moira, one-upping each other with parenting horror stories. The conversation is effortless and comforting and exactly the distraction you need, but when you reach the front doors, you freeze.

Mid-sentence, he takes a step or two before realizing you’re no longer next to him.

“Hey!” He pivots to face you. “Hey, are you alr-“

“Brian, I’m sorry,” you interject, eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “For just, like, disappearing off the face of the fucking earth. And I’m sorry for not returning your and Rachel’s calls.”

He considers this, leaning back against the glass, which fogs up instantly above his steaming cups.

“No, I understand,” he says in as gentle a tone as Brian can manage. “We were just worried about you. And worried that you’d think we were picking sides.”

“I kind of picked for you,” you point out with a small, mirthless huff of a laugh.

“A little.” A smile crinkles his eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for. You did what you needed to do. We’ve all been there.”

“I’ve missed you,” you say simply. “And Rachel.”

“We’ve missed you. As has my work-husband who, by the way, is somewhere behind these doors shitting bricks as well. You ready?”

You don’t move.

“You can do this,” he adds, his voice stern and fatherly and not at all unkind.

“I can do this…” you parrot without a hint of resolve, which inspires in him a rare chuckle.

“Come on. I need you to at least open the goddamn door for me.”

“Well, I can do that.” With a confident flourish, you do.

“Was that so hard?” he drones, stepping inside.

You take a deep breath and slip in behind him before the door swooshes shut, banging against your dragging heels.

“I can do this,” you say, more to yourself than to Brian.

“You can. And if-”

Just then, a laugh bursting with warmth and unbridled joy tumbles down a venue stairwell, echoing through the lobby and shattering the relative quiet.

It’s a laugh that used to bring you such happiness, but when you hear it this time, your gut pinches sharply and you suddenly need to be anywhere but where you are.

“ _OkaytalktoyoulaterBrianbye_.”

You’re already halfway up a different set of stairs, heart thudding erratically, when Brian’s flat “really?” reaches your ears.

You duck into the first bathroom you come across, a tiny, one person, gold-and-red monstrosity. Quaking fingers slide the deadbolt into place.

 _‘Fuck,’_ you think, planting your hands against the sink and leaning heavily onto them. You close your eyes as your whole body starts to shake. _‘FUCK.’_

You should have called out sick. You should have told Jamie you would be gone. You should have-

Another sharp pain pierces your stomach.

_‘Okay, breathe.’_

A loud belly-gurgle fills the air as you inhale deeply, hold, and exhale.

Again.

And again.

By the time you open your eyes your body has stopped quivering, save for sporadic little shivers that jerk your shoulders with a harsh touch.

 _‘Late,’_ your brain reminds you with a poking nudge. _‘You’re late.’_             

A noisy, halting breath leaves you and you dip your head to splash cold water on your face.

 _‘I can do this,’_ you think, drying yourself with a paper towel.

With hands that are still trembling, albeit much more gently now, you unlock the door and swing it open.

And then you stop in your tracks, freezing solid like a chunk of ice with your hand still on the doorknob and your heart in your throat.

He’s right there.

Leaning comfortably against the wall beside the drinking fountain, gently cooling his tea through pursed lips as he swipes at his phone.

A mass of curls spilling out from under his hood obscures his face slightly, as do a pair of black frames, but there’s no mistaking the tall and willowy frame, the ripped jeans, and those fucking dad shoes.

He hasn’t noticed you in the doorway yet, and you seriously consider barricading yourself in the bathroom until you can hear his footsteps retreat. Or you could just take off running. Or text Jamie and-

He looks up.

Actually, he looks up twice, in an almost textbook double-take.

A gasp catches in his throat and his eyes widen behind his glasses.

Your body is still frozen, but your lips, tongue, and vocal cords somehow manage to work together to squeak out a stupid, plaintive little “hey.”

An incredulous, shaky laugh that’s about 90% air squeezes out of him, and he blinks against the tears welling in his eyes as his face melts into a warm glow of a smile.

Then he sets his tea on the drinking fountain before stepping towards you with open arms.

All at once your icy body thaws all the way through and without a second thought, you rush forward to fold yourself into them.

He wraps himself around you, and a familiar warmth radiates from his body as your arms squeeze his waist and you squish your cheek against the front of the hoodie he’s layered under a leather jacket.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says in a tight whisper. “I missed you, babygirl.”

The sudden, distinct feeling of having come home floods your entire being, flowing into your veins and over your skin, and the relief is such that you begin to cry.

It’s a small action at first, a silent trickling of tears that collects in the fabric of his sweatshirt. But when you feel his own chest hitch, your tears start in earnest. He secures his arms more firmly around you and presses his damp face to the top of your head as your back heaves with noiseless sobs. One hand comes up to hold your head to his chest, and the words he murmurs low in his throat are just a rumble against your ear.

 

You don’t know how long you stay like that, just holding each other and losing fluids, but when your tears slow almost to a stop and your grip on the back of his jacket loosens, he leans back far enough to meet your gaze.

“Hey,” he says gently, eyes twinkling with both moisture and their own soft light as he looks down at you. There is so much in that one little word.

He swipes a careful knuckle under your eye.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” you deadpan, slipping from his loosening embrace.

A lilting giggle drifts from his mouth.

“Please. Do you know who you’re talking to?”

You smile, wiping away the remainder of your tears with a sniffle.

“A world-champion crier?” you guess.

“Exactly.” Another laugh, this one more of a wheeze.

You survey him through eyes raw with the rub of your hands.

He looks older than he had the last time you’d seen him, and more handsome in his maturity, with cheerful eye crinkles that present themselves behind his black frames when he smiles at you. His stubble is low, but at this close range there’s no hiding the salt and pepper hues dotting his chin. Dark circles gently cradle his eyes, but the motherfucker doesn’t look a day over 30.

“This is the longest I’ve ever seen your hair,” you observe finally.

“Oh, _wait_.”

He yanks his hood back and, as if spring-loaded, out poofs a cloud of hair. It’s a bushy sort of controlled chaos that spirals in some places and puffs coarsely in others.

“Oh my god!” There’s not an ounce of derision in your laugh. “There’s so much of it!”

“I know, right?” He grabs a chunk at the top of his head. “Jesus christ, what is this bullshit?” The hair stays upright when he pulls his hand away.

“No, no, it’s neat. I’m glad you’ve finally decided to embrace the curl after all this time fighting it.”

“Yeah, well,” he chuckles, “I’ve stopped fighting battles I know I can’t win.” Pause. “You look fuckin’ amazing.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I mean it.”

“Shut it,” you groan, a heat rising in your cheeks.

“You still can’t take a fuckin’ compliment, I see.”

“Your mom ca-“

 _“OHmygodokay,”_ he interrupts with a loud giggle. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He studies your face, a look of aching sincerity on his. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Danny.” You shake your head. “I can’t believe you’re here, oh my god.”

“Can we please, please get dinner tonight?” he asks, eyes bright and hopeful as he grasps your hand briefly, eagerly, with both of his. “I don’t know how much time we’ll have during the day today, and I would really love to catch up with you.”

Your stomach gives a nervous flip-flop, but your answer is genuine.

“I’d really like that.”

“I mean, you did miss breakfast this morning,” he teases.

“Yeah, whoops.” Your voice drips with heavy sarcasm but your entire body suddenly floats a foot above the ground, weightless with the liberation of being able to joke about this. “Must’ve accidentally missed every other time too…”

“Mm, I bet,” he chuckles again. “Your mom is so excited for Grandma Weekend, by the way. You should hear the way she talks about it. She loves that kid _so_ much.”

You grin.

“She does. In my fair and not at all biased opinion, though, that kid is the fucking best and impossible not to love. But I’ll admit, it’s nice to have just two days out of the month to myself, you know?” You frown. “Is that terrible?”

“No. I absolutely get that. Your life revolves around this little person and you don’t have much of a chance to just be (y/n) instead of Mom, right?”

A sigh of relief.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Holy shit, though,” he says, eyebrows shooting up under his hair. “You’re Mom.”

“I know, right?” you laugh. “It’s crazy. She’s incredible.”

He considers you then with a gentle smile.

“I’m so fuckin’ happy for you.” He reaches out to squeeze your hand. “Seriously.”

“Thank you, Danny. It means a lot to hear you say that.” The weight of his hand in yours is immediately familiar and comforting. “Her dad was not so pleased. I don’t know how much you’ve heard from my mom…”

“Plenty.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re doing this on your own. You’re amazing, you know that?”

The praise again coaxes a bit of a flush into your skin.

“I mean, I have a _ton_ of help from Mom,” you argue. “I certainly can’t downplay her role.”

“Still, though,” he says softly, “that doesn’t invalidate what you’re doing.”

 “There you are!” Jamie’s voice cuts right through the quiet moment, making you flinch and drop his relaxed grasp. “Can you please track down the last six electric bills for me once you clock in? The energy company is saying the rates didn’t increase, but I’m pretty sure they’re full of shit.”

“Sure thing, Jamie.”

“I see you and Dan found each other,” she adds, and you know exactly what the little quirk of her eyebrow means before she disappears behind the door to her office.

“Blah,” you grumble. “Danny…”

“No, go go go,” he hurries to finish your thought so you don’t have to be the one to say it. “Go. I’m keeping you from your job. And I guess from mine, too? This is fuckin’ crazy town.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Oh, and (y/n)?” Jamie pokes her head back into the hallway. “I’m _so_ sorry, but would you be able to stay a little late with me tonight? It’s short notice, but I know it’s Grandma Weekend and I’d really like to get those papers sorted before tomorrow, if at all possible. I’d have you start now but they’re not quite ready yet.”

You glance at Dan, worrying your lip between your teeth.

There’s a sweet disappointment creeping into his face, but he says, “Stay. It’s fine. Breakfast tomorrow instead?”

“Absolutely. Breakfast tomorrow,” you confirm, grateful that he wasn’t mad, as if anger was at all a reaction you’d expected from him. “Yes, I can stay tonight.”

Jamie lets loose a rush of breath.

“You’re an honest-to-god lifesaver. Thank you so much!” She disappears again.

A frown tugs at your lips when you turn back to Dan.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be. We still have tomorrow. And honestly, (y/n) I’m just fuckin’ psyched to spend any time at all with you.”

“I am too, Danny. GO TEAM!” you yell, raising your hand to face level.

“GO TEAM!” He high fives you, and the resulting crack echoes sharply through the hallway.

As you make your way to the office, your head buzzes with a new pervasive thought, this one much more welcome – _‘Oh my god, maybe I can do this.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, massive precocious kid trope avoidance fail :-P
> 
> Also, thanks for reading this far! Writing this chapter gave me so much second hand anxiety, phew!


	4. 2002

 

*2002*

 “Holy fuck.”

You chuckle at his awed tone.

“Dude, you did it!”

 “No, seriously, holy _fuck_ ,” he huffs. “I- Jesus…” The words go thin as his throat closes up.

When you turn your head to look at your best friend lying next to you, flush-faced and naked as the day he was born, you realize he’s crying.

“Hey, you alright?” You fight to keep the rising alarm out of your tone as you prop yourself onto your elbow and smooth his hair back. “Danny, what’s up?”

_‘Oh god he hated it, I took this from him, he can never go back, fuck he’s upset oh no FUCK-‘_

He gives you a watery smile and smears his face with the back of a shaking hand.

“No, I’m okay, I just-…I can’t-” His voice cracks, but he breathes a bewildered little laugh. “Holy fuck, that happened.”

With a great explosion of affection in your heart, you pull him to you. He comes willingly, snuggling into the side of your body and resting his head on your shoulder. You wrap him in your arms and tears continue to dribble onto your chest as you stroke his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, looping an arm around your waist. “I’m just…pretty overwhelmed.”

You’re not at all surprised to hear him say this. He’d seemed so _overcome_ by it all.

You’d known you weren’t the first naked woman he’d ever seen, so you’d been taken aback by the way he’d looked at you with wide, warm eyes full of wonder and a few unshed tears. He’d had no idea what to do with his hands yet, really, but he’d touched your body with such great care and kissed you like he was a man underwater and you were oxygen.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I’m sorry it was so much.”

His giggle, a little delirious with exhilaration and exhaustion, warms your skin.

“Don’t be. I’m going to remember this forever. Best 25 seconds of my life, man.”

You laugh, kissing the top of his head and feeling suddenly a thousand times lighter.

“Even when we accidentally cracked our heads together?”

“ _Especially_ when we accidentally cracked our heads together,” he chuckles. “So, thanks, Teach.”

“Gross. Don’t fucking call me that.”

“I’m sorry, did you not just teach me sex?”

 _“Teach you sex?”_ you crow, your chest spasming with giggles under his cheek.  

You’d certainly been an odd choice for an instructor, being three years younger and only marginally less new to the act than he, but you’d offered regardless.

Maybe it was your shared trauma that drew you together.

You’d very recently had your heart – and your hymen – broken by your first real boyfriend, an asshole who’d aggressively pursued your virginity only to dump you shortly after he’d obtained it. Meanwhile Dan, freshly graduated by the skin of his teeth, unemployed, and living in the basement at his parents’ house, had experienced a devastating blow when the girl he’d been saving himself for up and married someone else.

He’d been more than ready to be rid of the weight of his virginity, though, despite having held onto it for 23 years. There was a lot of love between the two of you, and you trusted each other more than you did any other soul on earth, so you’d figured… _fuck it, why not?_  

You’d shaken on it and scheduled an evening to help out your buddy – and, consequently, to wash the taste of your ex from your mouth.

Your collective newness had certainly been cause for some gloriously awkward bits, most notably when you’d struggled to fit him inside you. In contrast to your mounting frustration, he’d shown you endless patience - providing you with kisses, lube, a plethora of kind words, and all the time you’d needed despite the fact that his hands were trembling in anticipation. His broken gasp and the utterly gobsmacked expression on his face as you’d finally managed to ease down onto him had filled your heart with such a warm tenderness that your brain had dismissed some of the discomfort.

Not all of it.

As you now lay entwined together in a mellow haze on his mattress on the floor, under the twinkle of the string lights he’d draped from the wooden support beams, you can’t deny that a mild soreness lingers.

“Hey, (y/n)?” he mumbles, fingers dancing over your hip.

“Mm hmm?”

He continues to do this in silence for a bit.

“Thank you. For everything.” His voice is tight with new tears. “That was fuckin’ perfect. You’re-…you’re just the fuckin’ best, y’know?”

You wrap your arms more snugly around him.

“Thank _you_ for trusting me. And sharing this with me,” you murmur into his hair. “It means the world to me, for real. It was an honor, Danny.”

“Do you really mean that?” he asks, quietly and with all the sincerity in the world.

“I really do.” You press your lips to his hairline. “You’re my best friend, dude. I love you a lot.”

His breath catches in his throat, and he falls still and quiet for a few seconds before reaching behind him and grabbing your hand where it rests against his spine. He hugs it to his chest, wrapping his own hand around it with a sniffle.

“I love _you_.”

Something about the tone of his words pings in an alert your mind and you run a tentative hand up his back.

“Hey,” you say gently, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, “can you look at me for a sec?”

His head lifts and he tilts it to meet your gaze.

 “Are you sure you’re alright?” you whisper, holding his face in your palms.

He smiles.

“I am. I promise. I’m fantastic. Tonight was-…” He shakes his head slowly with a small, disbelieving laugh, sweeping over your face with adoring eyes still wet with tears. “Tonight was a fuckin’ revelation. Thank you.”

You press a lingering kiss to his forehead before he tucks it under your jaw, burying his face into your neck with a soft, fluttering sigh. Your hands wander up to play with his hair in earnest.

He keeps thanking you.

This was for him, yes, but for once you’d gotten to experience loving, intimate sex with an attentive partner who cared about your well-being. There had been a real kindness in his actions this evening, and an eagerness to learn. He’d followed your instructions so closely and enthusiastically, in fact, that he’d even succeeded in getting you off once beforehand, which was already once more than your ex had.

No, you’d both benefited from this arrangement.

You allow your eyes to drift shut then as you rest your cheek on his head, swept up in the utter peace and contentment of the lazy, sleepy moment. Even so, some intangible, unnamed thing nags at your brain, poking and prodding and refusing to be ignored. Something you’d forgotten?

“Oh, shit!” you exclaim, eyes popping wide open. “Danny, the condom!”

“What about it?”

“ _Take it off before it falls off!”_

“Fuck, I’m too comfortable,” he mumbles against your skin.

You push a whine from his body as you ease it off of you.

“Your fucking jizz is going to get everywhere!” you cry, giggling as you scooch across the mattress and yank the twisted sheet away from him. “I know your mom does your laundry-“

“She does not!” he protests, rocking himself up onto his knees. Two seconds into your skeptical stare, he amends the statement. “Okay, she does sometimes.”

“Danny...”

“I’m fuckin’ doing it!” he laughs, securing the condom with one hand and waddling on bowed legs to the laundry room that doubled as a bathroom.

You grin as you roll onto your stomach, dragging the sheet over you before resting your head on your arms and surveying your surroundings.

The pipe he’d packed for the two of you to share in an effort to calm your nerves still smolders on the floor beside the mattress. Zeppelin floats quietly from the dusty, second hand speakers that sit beneath a collection of iridescent mythical creature figurines. A single Northern Hues promo shot nestled quietly among other band posters and blacklight pieces catches your eye as it always does. The amount of garbage and dirty clothing cluttering the open, low-ceilinged space is significantly less than usual, and while you hadn’t noticed before, you smile as you realize now that he’d cleaned for you. The sheets on the bed were definitely fresh, as well, and the smoothness of his face when you’d touched it told you he’d very recently given himself a close shave.

You hear the utility sink run.

“Did you just toss it down the drain?” you ask, horrified, when he reappears wearing boxers and pulling heavily from a water bottle.

He tosses you the bottle in his other hand.

“No, smartass, I washed my hands,” he chuckles, a little breathless from his chugging. “It’s in the trash can, buried under a fuckton of toilet paper.” He flops onto his back right next to you and then stretches his long form languidly before rolling onto his side. Propping himself up on an elbow, he gazes down at you with a loving smile.

You throw the edge of the sheet over him, exposing your entire naked backside as the bedding slowly billows and flutters down to cover him, but his eyes don’t leave yours.

Then you reach a hand up, trapping his chin between your thumb and forefinger and turning his head first left, then right.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks, humor mingling with bemusement in his voice.

“Well..." You let your gaze roam his sweet face. “...You don’t look any different, but they tell me you’re a man now.”

He wheezes a laugh.

“Fuck _stupendously_ off.”

“We should probably look into buying ad space for it,” you tease. “Something like, ‘Fresh out of the box! No bad habits yet – train him to your exact needs!’ You’d _so_ get laid with that. I’m thinking a billboard on 101?”

“Jesus christ,” he grins, raking a hand through his hair and gripping it in a tight fist as he blushes a bit. “I was going to offer to try to get you off again, you dick, but now I don’t know.”

You laughter stops abruptly.

“Wait, really?”

“Is that-“ His brow furrows in genuine, sheepish confusion. “…should I not? I mean, there’s _no_ way you got much out of those 20 seconds…”

“Is your time just going to get shorter and shorter every time you mention it?” you snicker.

“Mention what? My 15 seconds of mindblowing, masterful lovemaking?” He tucks your hair behind your ear, and the gesture is so tender that you have to actively resist the instinctive urge to kiss him just then. “For real, if you don’t want me to, that’s totally, _totally_ fine.”

“I’m just surprised you’re offering,” you admit, rolling onto your back to look up at him. “It’s not really what I’m used to.”

Danny frowns, deep and disapproving lines forming on his brow as he does so.

“He was a fuckin’ dumbfuck lazy, selfish asshole who was in _no way_ worthy of your love or your time.” He grips your hand. “You’re worth _so_ much more. I really hope you believe that.”

You smile, a glow of fondness in your heart because you know he believes it, whether or not you do.

“You’re sweet.” You squeeze his fingers with yours. “Are you sure you’re up for it, though? I’m definitely intrigued, but tonight is supposed to be about you.”

He shifts, propping his head against his hand.

“Okay, for one thing, it would be a _while_ before I could even get another boner anyway,” he says with an upward twitch of his eyebrows. “For another, much more significantly, nothing would make me happier than to do this for you. And for me. I want the practice, if nothing else.”

“For the benefit of whoever comes along next.” Your smile widens. “That’s really considerate, Danny.”

He pauses for quite a long stretch, absentmindedly picking at a loose wisp of a thread.

“...Yeah. Exactly.”

This was just supposed to be a one-off.

That’s what you shook on - one and done, work together to get this thing out of him and then move along. But admittedly, when you think of the way you’d been treated by his long and agile fingers, you’re quite tempted.

“Everybody’s different, though” you point out, reaching up to cup his cheek. Then with a grunt you shake your head hard to clear away the fog of doubt that so often descends upon you. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I’d really like that. I don’t know why the fuck I’m trying to talk you out of it.”

You struggle to keep your frustration with yourself from reaching your face as your brain screams at you a number of cruel things.

“Because you think you’re not worth it, and you’re wrong,” he murmurs, leaning into your palm. “And because you’re nervous.”

You sigh, so rightfully accused that you wonder – not for the first time – if he can legitimately read your thoughts.

“Shit. Yeah.”

“I’m nervous too. Which is exactly why I’d like to have _some_ idea of what I’m doing next time. It’s totally, absolutely, positively 100% your call, no hard feelings. And honestly, it-“ He cuts himself off, his cheeks going a little pink again as he stares fixedly at your pillow. “Fuck. Nevermind.”

“Honestly what?” you ask gently, resting a hand against his chest and realizing his heart is thumping hard and fast within it.

He drags a slightly embarrassed gaze back up to you.

“The sounds you were making and your face when you came were just-…like, stupid fuckin’ hot, and I’d really like to experience them one more time, y’know?” He hesitates, eyes flitting nervously back and forth between yours. “I wanna make you cum again.”

A flush rises in your face as a sudden wave of heat splashes over your body.

“Well, fuck,” you breathe, an ache swelling in your core.

He smiles, suddenly looking much surer of himself.

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

A searing kiss catches you off guard, and you moan in response as he wraps a careful hand around your knee and draws your leg over his, opening you to him.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, pulling back just enough to see your face. His pupils are so dilated that his wide eyes look nearly black in the dim glow of the string lights.

You nod, your blood humming in anticipation as he idly caresses the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh.

“Can we try this without instruction this time?” he asks, and there’s a coarse quality to his voice that wasn’t there before. “I wanna see how well I can do now with just, like, reading your reactions.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“If you hate something, though-…“

“I’ll speak up.” You run a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair. “I promise.”

 He smiles before kissing you again, this time much more gently, slipping his forearm under your head to cradle it with a tenderness that makes your chest hurt. You twist the pillow in your grip as the delicate touch on your leg slides upwards.

That’s how you find out Dan Avidan’s a quick study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HNNNNG. Sweet boy is sweet.
> 
> Also, writing this felt a little invasive, but fuck it. I do feel the need to reiterate the fact that Dan is a real person with real feelings, and that the figure in my story is just my own fictional version of this real person with real feelings. I do not own this person, and everything I write is fictional!


	5. A Rehearsal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for some clunky exposition? I AM! WOO!

 

*2017*

“ _You spin me right ‘round, baby, right ‘round, like a record, baby…_ ”

Shit.

You’d been doing just fine until now. Great, even.

What you’d feared would be your worst day at work had been shaping up to be easily your best, and early on you’d found yourself wondering, as you so often did post-scary thing, _‘What was I so worried about?’_

Once you’d scrapped your very important plans to avoid your ex all day, you’d actually gotten to spend quite a bit of time together. Jamie had been serious about having you hunt down the last handful of electric bills, but beyond that she hadn’t really come up with much at all for you to do.

Suspiciously little.

Your absurd amount of free time had been used to experience the joy of simply spending a day around Dan and Brian again, piecing together friendships you’d dismantled all those years ago. You’d gotten to meet – and eat lunch with -- the friendly faces behind the masks of the TWRP men. And though your introduction to manager Brent was brief, squeezed into a small break between his frantic spurts of running around, you’d liked him immediately as well, thanks to a smirk and a dry comment about Dan actually being on time for once that day.

You’d even been invited to sit in on sound check, and now the two bands together were blowing your mind with every song. The instrumentation was tight as fuck, blending together in a seamless wall of music that was somehow both cacophonous and meticulous. Your heart had swelled to its bursting point with pride as Dan’s ethereal voice floated above it all, bouncing, note-for-note perfect, off the surfaces of the empty auditorium.

And then this song happened.

To your utter dismay, Danny had started to dance.  

No longer was he the wobbly boy fresh out of a major growth spurt, navigating life on new mile-long limbs. He hadn’t evolved into an amazing dancer, per se -- he had about three moves – but here was a man who felt music with his entire body and had exceptional control over his lanky frame. He’d always downplayed his skill, hiding a natural rhythm behind ridiculous, flailing arm movements and hard, comical thrusts. But now, just fucking around during an instrumental break, he pushes his thick hair back off of his face, veins popping in his sinewy arms as his narrow hips swivel and thrust in perfect time to the pulse of the beat.

High in the upper balcony, you sink into your seat and curse yourself as a flush creeps into your skin and warms your body.

 

In the time since the breakup, there’d been only two situations in which you’d allowed yourself to think about Dan Avidan.

You’re proud of neither.

One was when your subconscious would decide to mess with you by planting him into a dream. Sometimes it was a pleasant dream and sometimes it was decidedly not so, but regardless you’d jolt awake with tears streaming down your face each time. Luckily, this was a rare occurrence and, once your breathing was under control, swept from your waking mind with relative ease.

The other situation, though…that would happen with much, _much_ more frequency.  You’d eventually given up on fighting it because no matter how you’d push them away, relentless thoughts of fluid hips, skilled fingers, and a loving mouth still drifted into your mind at times.

He’d come so far from where he’d started when he’d handed you his V-Card - the day he’d much later admit was when he’d realized he loved you, a fact for which you’d eventually tease him without mercy...

That milestone had been full of clumsy fumbling and awkward limbs, of course, but with it had come a sweet, aching intimacy you’d never experienced, and would not experience again until you’d start dating him five years later. That’s when you’d be blessed with the opportunity confirm two things you’d come to suspect in the time since: that your body’s struggle to accommodate him hadn’t just been a result of your inexperience and nerves, and that he’d certainly honed his skills since that initial, solitary hookup.

He’d always been intuitive. A generous, observant, and empathetic people-pleaser to the core. This nature, combined with a surprising – and not at all unwelcome – wicked little dominant streak, made him to this day the best partner you’d ever had.

He’d read you better than anybody else could. He’d learned just what to do to make your body sing, and not only had you trusted him to do it, but he’d taken great pride and great pleasure in doing so, getting off on getting you off. With him you’d felt loved and wanted, two things of which your traitorous brain liked to convince you that you were unworthy. In fact, you’d often been able to stay _out_ of your brain and in your body, a goal too-frequently unattainable in bed with others on the rare occasion that you did try to date. Danny helped you let go.

No other partner had ever fulfilled you so on an emotional and physical level, and so after your breakup, despite your best efforts to flush him entirely from your mind, some parts indeed lingered. And once you’d given into the inevitability of this man in your late night thoughts, vivid images of him had occupied many a lonely evening.

Also, admittedly, some that were not so lonely - more than once you’d had to morph an exhale of his name into a strangled, halting “Da- _aaddy_?” Reactions had been mixed, to say the least.

 _Everything_ else regarding him, all 19 years’ worth of memories, had been crammed into a mental box labeled “NOPE” and set on the highest, backmost brain-shelf, so far out of reach and out of sight that you often forgot it was there.

And right now you’re definitely not thinking about the NOPE box, mostly because you’re too focused on the way heat swells in your core as his hips roll and sway. Another flush, this one shameful, bleeds into your face when you realize you’re actually contemplating ducking into the bathroom to relieve the problem while picturing those hips working against yours with far less fluidity.

But before you can act on it, thank christ, the song ends. And as soon as the music goes silent, you’re startled by a low whistle near you.

“FUCK!” you yelp, popping a couple inches up out of your seat.

“That’s the spirit!” Dan’s cackling voice booms out over the sound system as you whip around and find Jamie standing in the aisle with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry,” she chuckles. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while.”

Your blush burns brighter, and you pray she can’t see.

“Yeah, I was-…distracted. Sorry.”

“I can see why, holy _shit._ ” The seat creaks as she sits beside you. “You seriously passed up the chance to lock that down?”

You laugh a little, hoping your color will return to normal soon.

“I did. But we wanted different things.”

“Can I ask what?”

“This.” You wave your hand at the stage in a sweeping gesture. “It’s just-…in his soul. This is what he was always meant for.”

“Ah,” Jamie nods. “And you?”

You smile.

“She’s four.”

Jamie’s eyes widen and she leans towards you, hissing conspiratorially.

“Is _he_ the deadbeat motherfucker who left when you got pregnant with Moira?!”

“Oh! Ha! No!” You’re relieved to see her face relax again so quickly. “No, no, no, she came along a while after we broke it off.”

You briefly picture tortured look on his face the night you gave back the ring and ended your relationship despite still being very much in love with him -- and before you can manage to shove the short reverie back into the recesses of your brain, a sharp pang of fear and sadness stabs you right in the gut.

“Her dad was a rebound that I’d convinced myself wasn’t a rebound.” You shake your head. “No, if she was Danny’s, he would have stepped up.”

“Okay, good,” she sighs. “He seems like a pretty decent guy, and I was worried I’d have to put a hit out on him.”

You’re grateful for the chuckle this draws from you.

“Do you realize this is the second time you’ve indirectly threatened him with violence?”

“I’m just protecting my gurl. Spelled G-U-R-L.”

 “Thank you for your concern, but it’s unnecessary, I swear,” you laugh. “He’s got a really, really good heart and-…Okay, _what_?”

She squints.

“Do you still have feelings for him?”

“No!” you snap, before quickly soothing your shocked tone with a small smile. “No, those days are long gone.”

 “Is that why you looked like you were about to spontaneously combust less than two minutes ago?”

 Your blush burns anew - it’s useless to deny her accurate observation.

“That’s just attraction,” you argue, “not feelings. I’m not going to pretend there’s not some, like, muscle memory drawing me to him, physically…but seriously, can you really blame me for that?”

She doesn’t find the humor in this that you hope she will.             

“I don’t know, (y/n). I was watching you two today…” She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms, fixing her gaze intently on your face. “…It just seems like there’s still something there. It’s all these little things. Your chemistry is off the charts.”

You know exactly the little things to which she’s referring, and you’re more surprised than she is at how easily they’d come back to you.

Your shit-eating grin in response to the super subtly exasperated faces he’d made at you while Brent and Jamie pored over the contract.

The relaxed, affectionate physicality you’d shared as you split his chicken fingers at lunch, surrounded by his bandmates.

The comfortable familiarity with which he’d squeezed your hands and wriggled with excitement as you’d listed off the artists you’d gotten to meet on the job.

The bursts of giggles and faux-secretive hushed tones you’d exchanged right before rehearsal.

All the little things that had made you think, _‘Shit, maybe we can have a friendship again.’_

“Nah." You turn to face the stage where your former fiancé, the man you’d once loved so deeply and for so long, is trying to avoid getting his tiny butt lovingly patted by five different men. “I think it’s just because we were so close for a really long time…so that’s what feels normal, you know? He was my best friend, dude. Did I tell you we were friends for 14 years before we even dated?”

“You did not…” She eyes you more firmly. “You realize that only strengthens my suspicions, right? A solid foundation like that? And, I mean, you’re not seeing anyone-”

“Jamie, stop,” you laugh. “I’m adjusting to the idea of maybe having him in my life after five years - don’t force feed me drama. Believe me, I didn’t expect this reunion to go this way either.”

“Okay, fair,” she sighs, holding her hands up in defeat.

“Good. Thank you. Also, hey, Jamie.”

“What.”

“Any particular reason you don’t have anything for me to do today?”

She grins.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

With a four-count beat out on drumsticks, another song starts up, effectively ending the conversation. You turn your attention forward, ignoring the occasional feel of Jamie’s eyes on your face.

               

It had been nobody’s fault, your breakup. At least, neither of you had done anything wrong, outside of living firmly in a state of selective blindness.

 He’d always known you’d wanted kids. And because he not only loved being around children but also had an easy, natural way with them, you’d assumed he did too. It wasn’t until a few months into your relationship that you’d actually had the talk and he’d dropped the bomb – it wasn’t that he didn’t want them, he’d said, he just didn’t think he’d have the time with everything he wanted to accomplish now that his life finally had a direction.

But by that point you’d both already been wrapped entirely too far into your love cocoon, so it had been easy enough to sweep that important detail under the rug with a ‘ _we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.’_

And that sweeping had worked for quite a while. A handful of years, even. The kid issue simply became a thing you didn’t address, save for every so often when someone got brave and did. When this happened you’d fight - a rarity for you two, since you’d preferred to simply bicker and gently push buttons from day one. Nothing was ever resolved during these fights, of course, and they were usually followed by a couple days of gloomy silence, during which the two of you would brood over what you were both afraid to do.

But then the clouds would lift and a heavy dose of denial would descend, gently coating your otherwise very happy lives and allowing your blissful and purposeful blindness to continue without distraction until the next time.

Your engagement had been a wake up call. You could no longer ignore the looming threat, and so the morning after he proposed you made an appointment for couples’ counseling.

It wasn’t enough.

And that’s okay.

Looking at him now, watching him on that stage living his dream and bursting with joy, you’re reminded and reassured that it was for the best.

 

********

 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket an hour later, startling you as you restock supplies in the break room. It’s not something you’d needed to do today, particularly, but Dan and Brian were busy with band stuff and you’d started to feel a bit in the way. So, you’d made yourself useful instead.

Setting down a box of stir sticks, you pull out your phone.

_> >>  Hows it going, have your escape routes been working?_

Amanda.

With a smile and an odd feeling of contentment and relief stirring gently in your heart, you reply.

_> >>   It’s it going really, really well, actually. Holy shit, this has been a great day. I had been so fucking worried for absolutely nothing._

Normally lightning fast in her responses, there’s a solid 90 seconds before the next one.

_> >>  Going great how_

_> >>  Just in my interactions with Danny. I didn’t really realize how much I’d missed being around him, you know? We haven’t had the chance to legitimately catch up yet, but we’ve gotten to at least exist in the same space for most of the day. _

After a moment, you also add, _But we’re getting breakfast tomorrow morning so we can actually, like, have a conversation._

Not ten seconds after the message sends, your phone vibrates with Amanda’s incoming call.

“Hey!” you greet her, trapping the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you resume your self-appointed task.

“Dude.” She sounds out of breath.

“Dude what.”

“Don’t dude what me.”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are you even doing?”

“Um…filling a mug with stir sticks? What are you doing?”

“Worrying about you. And Danny.”

You frown.

“Why’s that?”

“Do you really think this buddy-buddy stuff is a good idea?” Her tone is gentle, but you pick up on the exasperation peeking through.

“I missed him, Amanda." You shake the communal creamer bottle to test its fullness. “I just missed having him in my life, and I didn’t even realize it. And anyway, we’re rekindling a friendship, not feeling out a romance.”

“I dunno, man.”

“You don’t think we can be friends?” You don’t intend for the hint of challenge in your voice to be there, but there it is. You hate yourself a little for it. “I’m sorry, that was combative…“

“I don’t think you ever really got closure on your breakup, (y/n). And that worries the hell out of me.”

Your frown deepens.

“I got closure.”

“Yeah? Didn’t you stop going to therapy right after you split?”

“I go twice a year,” you argue.

“And has he ever actually come up during your sessions?”

The truth resonates in your silence.

“Listen,” she continues, “I’m not trying to attack you or anything. I just-…” There’s a pause, during which you drop into a chair and press your forehead to the cool, unyielding marble pattern of the tabletop. “…You won’t talk about him, even though he was a _huge_ part of-…what, 20 years of your life? And nobody else is allowed to bring him up either. That doesn’t suggest that you’ve made peace with it.”

You huff, reddening slightly. Do you really not let people talk about him?

“But it’s closure. As in, I’ve closed that chapter in my life and I don’t need to constantly refer back to it.”

“I get that. It just seems like you never really dealt with your feelings about it ending. Oh god, don’t hate me for this, but like-…” She pauses again, and you get the feeling she’s choosing her words with great care. “Moira came along so soon afterwards, and she maybe provided a perfect distraction?”

A churning sensation in your gut leaves you a little green.

“Okay, _fine_ , I never dealt with it. But Jesus, don’t put that on her.”

“I don’t mean that you _had_ her in order to distract yourself, please don’t get me wrong,” she says hurriedly. “I just mean that maybe-…maybe she gave you a new focus so you never really got to figure your shit out.”

Hurt tears threaten to drip onto the tabletop.

“That breakup hurt more than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire life.” Your words are clipped. “I thought my grief was going to kill me and so okay, yes, I just-… _sucked_ it all inward and cut that part of me off in order to survive.”

“Yeah, and you gave yourself a fucking ulcer in the process.”

“What’s your point?” you sigh, consciously softening the edge in your voice.

“My point is,” she says, quietly and quickly reigning in her tone as well, “that because of all that, and because I know how much you still loved each other when you split, I don’t know if pursuing a friendship with him is a good idea.”

The swell of resentment and nausea in your body subsides, but the ache of a slight sadness remains.

“I really think it’ll be fine,” you assure her, shaking off the ache and wiping any trace of moisture from your eyes. “And I’m sorry for lashing out. That was completely unfair to you.”

“ _I’m_ sorry for bringing up some ugly stuff. But, like, I’m worried about this. Whether or not you should, do you think you even _can_ be Dan’s friend?”

“You mean, just his friend?” you ask. “Yes. I may not have sorted out my shit, but I don’t have feelings for him anymore, dude.”

“You don’t think spending time with him is going to knock any residual lovey-dovey stuff loose? Or at least, like, sexy-dovey stuff?”

You silently thank all that is good in the universe that Amanda didn’t know about the way your body and brain had reacted to Danny’s little dance that day, or about his frequent appearances in your lust-driven imagination.

Minor details, both.

“Seriously, a) Tomorrow we’ll go to breakfast, he’ll perform that night, and then he’s leaving for California. Where he lives. Away from here. In another state. Which is not this state.”

“And b?”

“And b) _Jesus christ_ , man, I do have a modicum of self-control,” you laugh. “We may have connected really strongly on that level once, but that was forever ago. You think we can’t hang out without- just-...going at it?”

It takes a long time for her to answer.

“(y/n). Listen to me, please. I’m only thinking of your well-being. And his. I’m thinking about how torn up you were. How he completely fucking fell apart. Did you know he went back on some pretty heavy duty meds for a while when you broke up? _After_ self-medicating with weed again?”

A vivid memory of his shocked face, bleary-eyed and sallow in the harsh light of the airport neither of you had known the other was at, aggressively invades your mind. Your stomach plummets and your whispered reply is thin and strained, choked out by the feeling of guilt rolling and churning inside you.

“I didn’t know that. Fuck.”

“And I know you’re adults and capable of making your own decisions. But I love you both so much and I don’t want to see either of you in that place ever again.”

You smile a little, swallowing the guilt the best you can in the moment.

“I love you too, woman. But it’s just breakfast. In a brightly lit public restaurant,” you tease gently. “It’ll be fine, I swear.”

She doesn’t laugh.

“Do what you need to do, I guess. But you’re playing with fire.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, meddlesome friends. One of my favorite fanfic cliches. FIGHT ME.
> 
> Just kidding, don't fight me. I am small and weak and I will lose.
> 
> Also, thank you for reading!


	6. 2007

 

*2007*

' _She’s going home with him,’_ you think, gritting your teeth as you grind your whiskey sour into the battered wood of the table top.

You glare at Tits McGee, watching as she tosses her hair out of her eyes and laughs at whatever bullshit Dan is spewing. His scrawny back is to you so you can’t see his face, but his body language screams exactly what you fear – head tilted toward her, chest open and facing her, hands near hers on the bar…

He gestures to the bartender, and Tits smiles brightly at him with dreamy eyes when he’s not looking.

_‘Oh, she’s definitely going home with him.’_

You’re 25 and you’re in love with your best friend.

Fuck. _Fuck._

You aren’t sure when it happened.

You sure as fuck don’t know how to deal with it either, but you do know that it has brought out the absolute worst in you. You’d never been a particularly jealous person, and Dan’s lady friends had never inspired possessiveness, but…not that long ago, something in you had shifted.

This ugly, awful monster is apparently just who you are now, and this fact fills you with shame – rightfully so -- on a daily basis.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, just tell him,” Amanda snaps.

You tear your gaze from the source of the ache in your chest and it lands on your friend and roommate sitting across the table.

“Ugh, no, why?”

“Because you’re driving me fucking crazy with this moony pining. Just tell him. Why not?”

You slump back into your squeaking chair.

“You know exactly why not.”

“He’s not going to shoot you down,” she assures you. “You’re not risking anything, dude.”

“Of course I am.” You frown, glancing at Danny and Tits again. She’s touching his arm and you have to turn away. “He’s not into me.”

“You sure about that?” she challenges, sipping her Fireball and Dr. Pepper.

“Stop, okay? Please. I’ll get over it. It’s fine.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s been, like, a year. You’re not getting over it. And second, it’s fine?” Her eyebrows lift. “Really? You’ve spent the last ten minutes staring daggers at that poor girl who has done _nothing_ to you.”

That familiar guilt burns your cheeks and gnaws at your stomach.

“I know. I’m an asshole,” you groan. “This doesn’t feel good. I don’t like this person.” You rest your forehead against the heels of your hands, shutting your eyes tightly to fend off tears.

“I know you don’t,” she says, a gentle tone softening her voice. “So do something about it.”

“I _am_ doing something about it. I’m reminding myself that he can take home whoever he wants. That’s his decision and I need to just live with it.”

“Orrrrr-…hey!” She smacks your arm, and you open your eyes again. “ _Orrrr_ , you can just cheer your ass off when he’s on that stage, and then tell him when the show’s over.”

“I can do that first part.”

“I could stay with Jose tonight, so you can have the place to yourself,” she adds, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“ _Amanda_.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” The ice cubes in her glass clink as she uses the straws to swirl them mindlessly in their boozy bath.

 

You can’t pin down exactly when you’d fallen in love with Dan and become a monster person.

It wasn’t during your school years, when you’d each done the best you could to go unnoticed.

Your time at the high school had only overlapped with his for one year, and for that year his small handful of dorky friends had provided a safe space at lunch for your small handful of dorky friends. Outside of that brief window of time, though, you didn’t see much of each other during the day for the rest of your school career. Many evenings and weekends had been spent together, melding friend groups to play D&D or finding quiet solace in the company of only one another, but not once did you view him through anything but an older brother lens. Back then the three year age difference had seemed so much more significant, particularly when he was taking Drivers Ed while you had yet to even hit puberty (you would do so soon after – although it would be more accurate to say that puberty hit _you_ , like a fairly grotesque brick wall).

Your feelings still hadn’t developed by the time he’d graduated and entered that dreadful period - his first foray into the world of mental illness.

His anxiety had evolved into OCD and for the first time ever, he’d felt the downward pull of clinical depression. During that time, you’d gone to see him at school as often as you possibly could. In fact, the drivable distance to Boston was the thing that made you drum up enough courage to not only get your license, but also to learn to navigate the fucking terrifying East coast highway system. It was worth it, though, to repay him for all the times he’d been there for you when you’d slid headfirst into a nightmare.

When he’d come home from school but wouldn’t have the energy to leave his bedroom, you’d spend much of your time with him, no matter how he’d try to convince you that he wasn’t worth it. Some days you’d write while he slept. Some days you’d play video games together. Some days you’d simply lay in bed with him in the darkness of that stale and sweaty room, wishing you could take away his pain while you molded your body to his and held him tightly as he sobbed. Just as he’d done for you.

More than once he’d tearfully wondered aloud how you’d dealt with that poison in your brain for so long.

 _“This is fuckin’ exhausting,”_ he’d say.

 _“Welcome to this shitty club_ ,” you’d reply.

Out of your shared experiences had bloomed a deeper love, but one between friends. The intimate bond had held fast, however, after he’d fought his way, clawing and crawling, out of the wretched hole.

Your desperate, hopeless falling for him certainly hadn’t occurred during his turbulent early-to-mid 20s, either.

Sure, that’s when his cute, boyish features had hardened and he’d taken a sharp turn into incredibly handsome territory, but he’d remained the lovable, sweet-natured mess of a human being who couldn’t hold down a job to save his life and spent every cent he earned on weed. He’d started to turn heads on the street, but he was still your friend – one with whom you’d been to hell and back and had never once considered dating.

Neither had it occurred when he’d convinced you to move to Brooklyn after college because, he’d sworn, the city would be a lot better with you there.

No, if you’d loved him then, you would have accepted his offer to share his apartment with four other people. Instead you’d convinced Amanda, who’d been sucked into your life freshman year in the dorms and had never managed to escape, to take the plunge with you. The cramped two-bedroom you shared with her was just a block from Danny’s place, but that was merely a happy coincidence (or the result of everybody being poor). And though late nights did often end with you and Dan sharing a bed, you’d both be fully clothed and remain so all night unless one of you got the booze sweats and discarded their pants.

Not even when word spread around town that Dan Avidan was a phenomenal lay did you tumble into this terrible longing and vile jealousy.

If anything, you were happy for your late-bloomer friend. You couldn’t say you were that surprised - God knows he got enough practice nailing anything that moved, in between his brief relationships. You’d had only one experience with him five years prior, but looking back on the night you’d helped him out by taking his virtue (his words, not yours), you know that even then the telltale signs of a future great fuck had been there. And so a couple years ago when you’d overheard one woman in a bar bathroom telling another woman to go for it, go home with Dan because he will blow your fucking mind, you weren’t surprised. A little curious, maybe, but surprised? No. Jealous? Not at all.

But then….

Sometime in the past year, everything had changed.

He’d changed.

He’d had his heart utterly obliterated by another failed relationship, which had been awful to watch, but out of it had come an incredible album. The production of that album had only been possible because he’d actually developed a work ethic...and a solid one at that. You’d watched him pour his heart and soul into _Run with the Hunted_ , all while excelling at a shitty day job he’d hated.

He’d stopped smoking weed, too, and had learned to spend wisely the money he’d saved in doing so. And with the quitting of the habit had come the return of clarity and focus to his eyes. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed them. How much you’d missed the passion and drive and direction he’d left behind years ago.

Your love for the gangly asshole had just kind of crept up on you until one distressing day it hit you, like a sucker punch to the face, that you had developed feelings.

Of the heart and of the pants.

And he would never know as long as Amanda kept her mouth shut.

               

A server clears your table of empties just as more friends file in the door. You and Amanda wave them over, sliding your bags and jackets off the unoccupied chairs.

“Where’s Dan?” somebody asks.

You gesture vaguely to your left, unwilling to turn and look again.

“YOU GUYS!” His voice booms over the din of both the crowd and the thick cloud of music filling the air, and seconds later he plops down in the chair next to you, thankfully without Tits. “Hey, you’re just in time! We’re on in five, so I gotta go backstage in a sec, but we’ll meet up after?”

Your heart literally skips a beat when he grabs your hand and looks at you with big, round eyes.

 _“I’m super nervous,”_ he’d told you quietly, earlier that day. _“I’m so grateful for this opportunity, but I’m nervous. I’m not used to doing this, y’know, clear-headed.”_

“Danny, you’ve got this,” you assure him now, squeezing his hand right back as you take in his earnest face. “You’re gonna kill it. You always do.”

“Having you here helps so much,” he says on an exhale, eyes flicking back and forth between yours. “I swear to god, when you come to a show it just goes better.”

You smile and a warmth blooms out from your stomach and into the rest of you.

“What about us, asshole?” someone pipes up.

“Who are you again?” he quips.

Amanda gives you a Look.

You give her a Look right back.

Dan is called away, but before he goes he makes sure to tell all of you at the table that he loves you and he’s so happy you came out to support his dream.

He disappears back stage, and in a matter of minutes the lights dim and a voice overhead announces Skyhill.

Your table goes crazy and he grins at you guys as he and Peter step out from behind the cheap fabric backdrop. They introduce themselves as Skyhill again and go right into it.

You love watching him perform, and you’d gotten to do it with much greater frequency after coming to Brooklyn. You love hearing his voice just fucking soar over the music. You love the way stage lighting illuminates that incredible face just so as he turns it heavenward. You love the way his tall frame sways and bobs to the beat. You love seeing him command a stage with the easy grace of a person who is doing exactly what they were put on this earth to do.

He’s in a venue performing for a sold-out crowd of thousands instead of in a tiny dive in Bed-Stuy, singing for 30 people who were mostly there just to grab a drink on a Friday night.

 

By the time they thank the casually applauding crowd and disappear behind the backdrop again, you ache all over with love and pride and more than a little lust. The air around you buzzes with animated conversation among your friends, but you sit quietly, doing your best to gather yourself before Dan returned to your group.

_‘Breathe.’_

“There’s our man!” A chorus of whoops and applause explodes around your little overcrowded table.

“Do it.” This is all Amanda says to you in low voice when she leans in for half a second.

You shake your head, eyes still screwed shut.

“Is Dan okay? He looks a little…”

“Deranged?” Amanda offers helpfully.

You force your eyes open and look where everybody else is looking.

There’s Danny, his hair sticking up at odd angles as he struggles to push through the crowd of people that seems so much larger now that everybody’s standing in line at the bar. His face is flushed, and his eyes are bright and feverish.

They are also trained on you with a laser-focus.

Your stomach does a backflip inside your body.

“Oh my god, is he doing it?” someone asks.

“Holy shit, I think he is!”

“OH MY GOD.”                 

“It’s about fucking time, Jesus.”

You hear their words on some level of your consciousness, but they’re muted and you can’t even begin to process their meaning. You’re entirely too focused on the stare which grows increasingly frantic as he approaches, bumping into innocent bystanders.

You jump a little when he slaps his hands down loudly on the table’s surface to steady himself, but he doesn’t break eye contact and he doesn’t waste any time.

_"I love you."_

“ _WHAT?!”_ you squawk, eyes popping out of your head.

Someone at the table gasps.

“I do. I love you. I love you _so_ fucking much. I have for years and I’ve been too afraid to tell you because your friendship is so fuckin’ precious to me, but tonight I just-“ He takes an audible breath, closes his eyes, and wrenches his hair with both hands. “I’m, like, fuckin’ _surging_ with adrenaline right now and I feel hopeful and also kind of reckless, like I can do anything, and I think that’s why I’m being brave, but I don’t want you to think that _I_ think that telling you how I feel is somehow reckless, even though I just said that but, like-“ He opens his eyes and releases his hair, but it stays upright. “It’s either I go out and steal a car or I tell you I love you, and only one of those thing has the potential to be productive, not like I assume it’s going to be productive or anything, because if you don’t feel the way I do that’s fine, but I didn’t want to just, like, fuckin’ suffer in silence anymore because I want to be honest with you, because I’m in love with you and I don’t actually _want_ to steal a fuckin’ car and-“

Your chair topples backwards when you launch yourself at him and heave your arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to do so. A loud sob escapes you as you mash your face against his shoulder.

His arms envelop you _so_ tightly, and he presses his face into the top of your head.

“Danny, I love you too,” you whisper.

You realize he’s shaking, but so are you.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he chokes. “For real?”

“For real.”

“How?”

Your strained, gurgling laugh is muffled by his neck as he lifts you off the ground and into a bear hug.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit.”

You’re hanging there in his arms, squished against him with your sneakers dangling inches off the ground, when the lime wedge pelts you on the side of the head.

“I fucking _told_ you,” Amanda snaps. A beat, and then “…Jose, I’m staying at your place tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the previous flashback, this felt a little weird and invasive to write. I was tempted to just leave out the part about Dan's OCD and depression, but the themes of mental health and mental illness are so much at the heart of the story that I think eliminating that part would have done it a disservice.
> 
> I have no idea what his experiences with depression were actually like, of course -- beyond what he's shared -- but this is how this particular fictional version of him lived it.


	7. A Surprise - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being SUPER long, so I decided to split it up - part two should be up later this weekend!

 

*2017*

_*slap*_

With a sigh, you toss another opened envelope into the “keep” pile on the Jamie’s coffee table.

* _slap_ *

A small stack of unfolded papers for the recycle bin.

The next toss goes rogue.

_*slap-ssssflap-flapflapflap*_

“Fuck,” you groan, sliding your stiff body off the couch to retrieve the papers from the floor where they’d fallen in rapid succession. Your knees and your neck crack loudly in the process.

The pile of stuff Jamie had wanted the two of you to sort together had ended up being a little taller and even less organized than you’d anticipated. She’d certainly made a dent in it before you’d walked into her office near what was supposed to be the end of your shift, but you’d still felt instant regret for agreeing to stay once you'd seen what was in store. You’d quickly removed your shoes, grabbed a blanket, and settled in for what was probably going to be a couple hour job shared between two people.

That is, of course, until ten minutes in when she’d sprung up and in a rapid-fire speech told you she’d realized she had a dinner date with a potential client that evening, and could you _please_ stay and finish?

You’re a sucker, though, and this type of thing wasn’t at all the norm for Jamie, so you’d agreed while only slightly kicking yourself for taking a salaried job in the first place. As you’d worked alone, your co-workers had slowly trickled out of the building, poking their heads in to say goodnight.

And now, as you kneel on the carpet and gather papers with a sweep of your arm, you’re likely the only person left in the quiet building.

“Need a break?”

You just about jump out of your skin.

“Danny! God!”

He smiles as he leans his tall body against the door frame, laptop tucked into his elbow and a plastic bag dangling from one wrist.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckles. “Did you get dinner yet?”

“Dinner? I-…” A glance at the clock reveals 7:07 PM. “Jesus christ, I didn’t realize what time it was. No, I did not.”

“Ok, good, _because_ …” he lifts what you now identify as a Sendai Sushi bag, “…I brought dinner to you.” A hint of sheepishness sneaks into his face. “Honestly, I didn’t want to wait until breakfast. I hope this is okay. I know you’re working…”

You smile.

“That was incredibly thoughtful, thank you. I do need a break.” You gather your quilt onto your lap shove the throw pillows to the corner of the couch to make room. “What did you get?”

He accepts your nonverbal invitation to sit by your side as you clear space on the coffee table.

“I got you a volcano roll, obviously, and also _aaaa_ …Trump roll?“ His jacket is removed with a creak of leather. “The name is absolutely horrifying, but ingredients-wise it sounded a lot like something you’d love,” he adds, thunking the heavy bag onto the empty table and pulling out two sparkling waters.

“Are you kidding me?” you laugh. “Dude, you literally got me my favorite roll from my favorite sushi place in town.”

“Fuck, for real? _Yyyeahhh_!” He gives himself a triumphant high five, encouraging more giggles to spill from your mouth.

“You dork.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Fair.”

After unearthing the takeout boxes and chopsticks, you two dig in.

“Hey, Danny?” you ask after a minute, swirling a stick around your soy sauce dish to mix in the wasabi.

“Yeah.”

“Can we acknowledge just how fucking bonkers it is that the entire reason you’re even at this venue is that you’re _performing_ at this venue?”

“It’s fuckin’ wild, right?” Eyes widen behind his black frames. “It’s not just a bar or somebody’s garage, y’know? I can’t believe this tour is even happening. Brian and I just-…Jesus-…” He blinks against sudden tears.

“I’m _SO_ proud of you, dude.” You rest a soft hand on his forearm. “So proud of your success. For real, nobody deserves it more than you do.”

His cheeks pink up a little.

“It didn’t come without a metric fuckton of hard work,” he says, his voice quiet and a little solemn through his warm smile. “And sacrifice.”

Your stomach flip-flops at that and he resumes prepping his food.

“Are you taking care of yourself, though?” you ask, examining his tired face and suddenly worrying that he’s spreading himself too thin. “From the bits and pieces I’ve gathered, it sounds like you have a _lot_ going on.”

“I do. I’m always working, but that’s what I want, y’know?” He pauses in his ginger-distribution to regard you thoughtfully. “I do have to consciously make myself slow down, though. It’s way too easy to forget about self care.”

“No kidding.” You huff a laugh. “Hey…how’s your brain?”

“Now _there’s_ a question I haven’t heard in a while.”

For many years, those were the words you’d used to check in with one another. While the tone was usually lighthearted, the meaning was anything but.

Back in college, after being convinced by friends and family that asking for help was a sign of strength and not one of weakness, you’d finally, officially, received a diagnosis - depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder, with panic attacks characterized by depersonalization and derealization. While putting a name to the Thing, talking to a professional, and funneling your thoughts and feelings into journaling had certainly helped you deal with it, your illness was chronic and you struggled.

Danny had his own similar mental demons with which he wrestled, and you’d both learned pretty quickly that a solid base of shared experiences made both the fight and the fall into bad periods that much more manageable.

“I have way more good days than bad.” It’s clear in his voice that he’s proud of where he’s at. “Meditation has helped tremendously. Long walks. Occasional therapy sessions. As regular a sleep schedule as I can fuckin’ manage. The _uszhe_.” He chuckles. “I’m managing. You?”

You set down your chopsticks and lean back into the couch, criss-crossing your legs. Next to you, he does the same.

“Managing. Way more good days than bad.” You grin and he high fives you. “With the help of five migs of Lexapro. And also long walks, fairly regular sleep, and semi-annual counseling appointments.”

“Not writing?” he asks, his brow knit. “You used to be able to just, like-“ he flits his fingers around his face, “…zone out for hours.”

“I don’t really have those hours to spare anymore. But even without that, like, everything else has helped _so_ much,” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief. “I haven’t had a panic attack in a long time.”

“I’m so glad to hear that,” he says gently, reaching out to grasp your hand.

“I gotta be honest, though,” you add, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you hesitate. “The lead-up to today was fucking _rough_ , man.”

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes, releasing his hold to card the hand through his hair. “Yeah. I was up most of the night. But the second I actually saw you, it just-...” Shrug.

“I know. Me too.” Your voice is quiet and slightly distant. “I missed you. I didn’t let myself realize it, but I did.”

That morning’s thought of having come home is still fresh in your mind and in your heart.

“I missed you too.” His gaze meets yours. “So much.”

Now you’re both fighting tears.

“You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, you know that?” He smiles as he shoves his glasses up to rub a forearm along  watering eyes. “You always have been. Way stronger than I ever was.”

You snort.

“Yeah, okay.”

“No, for real. You don’t even know it.”

“If I am it’s because I have to be, now. For her.”

He studies you in a moment of contemplative silence.

“Tell me about her.”

“What, my mom hasn’t shared every little detail and shown you a million pictures?”

“Oh, she has,” he laughs. “But I want to hear it from you.”

“God dammit, Mom,” you mumble. “I’m so sorry she pushed that on you. Her sense of boundaries can be pretty questionable...”

“No, no, I like hearing about her,” he assures you. “Honestly, it made me feel like I got to keep one more direct line to you in my life, so I’ll take it.”

A warm glow expands inside you and you smile with it.

“Tell me about being a mom.” His eyes are wide and hopeful. “Please?”

“Jesus, Danny, she’s just-…she’s fucking amazing.”

He grins.

“Yeah?”

You launch into it, dimly aware that you’re rambling obnoxiously, but for once you don’t care.

“She’s small for her age – shocker, right? She looks quite a bit like me, actually – and she’s SO into music…like, almost always listening to something, and I really hope that won’t become an issue once she’s in school full time. And she’ll eat anything you put in front of her, thank god, and she struggles with ‘s’ sounds a little bit and we’ll keep working on that, but oh my god, it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard in my life. She’s afraid of most things so, you know, now I know how my mom felt when all my shit started. And she’s really funny -- like, real person funny, not just kid funny – and she makes me laugh a lot because she’s already loving the feeling of doing that. She’s obsessed with The Wizard of Oz and wants to watch it every day-“

He grimaces.

“-oh, I know, that’s my own personal hell, but since Mom takes her after school and on non-school days, she really gets the brunt of it. And she tells the weirdest fucking stories, oh my god. She just comes up with them off the top of her head, and they’re so long and involved and creative and just super weird and I can’t wait until she has the skills to write down what’s in her head, you know? And she’s too fucking smart for her own good – she’s already reading a little, and she asks the most startlingly observant questions. It’s seriously kind of unnerving sometimes. I think it’s because her emotional intelligence is so goddamn high. She’s said some straight-up _profound_ things about her dad not being there with us, you know? Like, she just gets it. She’s not angry about it, at least not yet, and that takes _such_ a weight off of me, my god. And she’s a little nurturer, dude. For real, I don’t know how a kid that age develops such advanced feelings of empathy-“

“I have a few ideas,” Dan cuts in.

“-but she’s recently found her sassy pants. So far it’s just been with me, and I don’t want to encourage her to be a little shit to me, but at the same time I do want her to learn to speak out and stand up for herself because oh god, she’s just so much like me, and I worry every day that because she’s so sensitive the world is just going to eat her alive. I can encourage her to speak her mind and I can emphasize body autonomy until the cows come home, but I know I can’t be there to protect her 24/7 for the rest of her life and so I’m fighting my helicopter instinct every fucking day and Jesus _christ_ , it’s such a cliché, but this is definitely the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve ever done, you know? I wish I had more time with her because holy _fuck_ , it’s going so fast.”

You release a large breath to indicate that you are, at last, done.

“She sounds amazing, babygirl,” Danny says, his face somewhere between a smile and solemnity. “Seriously.”

“God, Danny, she’s the best thing in my life. You sh-“ You cut yourself off and gnaw your lip again, terrified that you’d nearly just crossed a line in your excitement.

“Hey.” He covers your hand with his and squeezes it. “I’d love to meet her.”

“Yeah?” Your slow grin is reluctant, though you trust that he’s being genuine.

“Absolutely. She sounds like a really cool kid.”

“She really is.”

 “And you’re surviving motherhood,” he hums, resting his chin in his palm.

“I mean, I pee a little when I sneeze, but I have hips now so, you know…fair trade.”

His giggles explode into the small room, and your heart again warms at the sound.

He tilts his head in its perch and looks at you sidelong, a considerable fondness on his face.

“ _Fuck_ , I missed you.”     

 

**************          

 

You receive a text from Amanda while Danny’s in the bathroom off of Jamie’s office.

>>> _Dont forget to keep breakfast short and sweet tomorrow_

Fuck.

_> >>  Soooo….funny story._

_> >>  WHAT_

_> >>  He’s here now._

_> >>  Here where, your place?_

_> >>  The venue. He surprised me with sushi._

Her response is immediate, just as you’d known it would be.

>>> _ABORT MISSION! ABORT! ABORT!_

Your phone then buzzes with her incoming call, but at that moment bathroom door opens so you hurriedly put it on silent.

She can yell at you later.

“That soap smells _so_ fuckin’ good.” He flops his body back onto the couch.

“Okay, you were telling me about a Grumps recording gone awry.”

“Right! So, by that point it was about 2 AM…”

Your screen continues to light up in your periphery, so you turn it face down on the table. But not one minute later, Dan interrupts himself.

“I’m so sorry, my phone is blowing up. One second.” A few pass as he squints at the screen with his fingers twisted in his hair, and then, “Um…”

“What’s up?” you ask with great hesitation, pretty sure that you already know the answer but hoping to god you’re wrong.

“Amanda’s sending me pictures of cats that have been hit by cars. Just-...zero context.”

You heave a great sigh that morphs into a laugh before you can stop it.

“Dude, she’s trying to cockblock us.”

His rounded eyes snap up to meet yours. For just a moment, as he processes your words, your stomach flutters with anxious uncertainty.

But then he throws his head back and cackles that gasping, squeaking cackle.

“ _Ohhhmyfuckinggod_ , seriously?” he wheezes. “Are you getting them too?”

You flip your phone back over for just long enough to confirm that you were indeed receiving pictures of flattened cats and their flattened entrails.

“I should call her and remind her that I do have a modicum of self-control,” he giggles.

“That is _exactly,_ word for word, what I told her! Jesus christ, way too many people are involved in this!”

“Oh my god, you should have seen the look Brian gave me when I told him I was coming back here.”

“Isn’t Brian always kind of giving a look?” you laugh, nestling back into the cushions. “That’s just his face.”

“Trust me, this was _extra_ look-y.”

 “Figures. Meanwhile, on the other end of the busybody spectrum, Jamie’s trying to nudge me towards you. You know all that free time I had today?”

“What, you don’t normally have just an hours’ worth of work in a nine-hour day?”

“Yeah, no.”

Dan cringes.

“Then I guess you don’t really want to hear that she’s the one who not only directed me to you on her way out, but also told me I could be here all night so you’d have company while you worked,” he chuckles. “I thought that felt a little fuckin’ suspicious.”

Suddenly her steady stream of frantic “thank you”s and “I’m sorry”s as she’d fluttered down the hallway after breezing past you made a lot more sense.

“I really should have picked up on that sooner,” you groan, slumping in your seat. “I’m sorry you wound up being a pawn in her schemes. She’ll be very disappointed to find out this night didn’t end with a dramatic reunion fuck on the couch.”

“Is it still okay that I’m here with you?” he asks, brow furrowing as he wraps his arms over his knees. “Okay with you, I mean? I can-“

“I still want you here, I promise,” you rush to assuage his worry. “Don’t go. People just need to mind their own business, that’s all. We’re mature adults-“

“-I sing about dicks for a living,” he monotones.

“We’re adults,” you correct yourself with a giggle, “and it’s nobody’s decision but ours.”

“But it would be a _super_ terrible idea. Right?”

“Oh, the fucking _wooorst_.” You clap your hands to your face. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Shake on it?” he asks with a grin, holding out his hand. “No dramatic reunion fuck on the couch?”

You smile at him, feeling at once both immense relief at being on the same page and, to your surprise, just the teensiest bit of disappointment.

 It’s not like you’d been anticipating a wild night of unrestrained banging, and you know in your heart that he hadn’t been either – to him, sex in any situation had always been a pleasant surprise and not an expectation. In fact, a hookup during Danny’s time in Seattle hadn’t even occurred to you as a possibility until Amanda had expressed concern. While the thought was, admittedly, thrilling, it wasn’t something you’d actually considered doing, even when he’d shown up to keep you company in this dark, quiet, and otherwise deserted venue.

A sex ban eliminated any potential pressure on the both of you.

“If only to prove our people wrong.” You take his hand and give it a firm shake. As you do, you remember how it had once felt on your body, but you squash the memory as soon as it bubbles to the surface of your brain.

 “I like it,” he says with finality. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

“Remember what it was like, though?” he asks, picking up his chopsticks with a chuckle. “Jesus.”

As a flutter tickles your stomach and you swallow an awareness of just how heavily this sweet and gangly man had featured in your fantasies, you’re doubly grateful that a prospective hookup had officially been taken off the table.

But you smirk on the outside as Amanda’s voice reminding you you’re playing with fire echoes on the inside.

“I was there,” you say coolly before sipping your sparkling water.

“I mean, I don’t know if you could handle one more taste of the D…“

Your mouthful sprays into the air as you guffaw.

And just like that the fluttery moment is gone and forgotten, the air around you suddenly feeling much lighter.

“I’m just sayin’,” he giggles, patting your chin with a napkin, “if I made you see God one more time, I don’t think you’d ever get rid of me.”

“Eat your fucking sushi.”

 

**********

               

You’re about halfway through NSP’s videography when he shows you “6969.”

“Danny, this is incredible,” you mumble, unwilling to speak above the music. Your eyes are glued to the screen. “I can’t believe what you’ve created here.”

“It means the world to me to hear you say that.” He leans back into the couch with a heavy exhale. “A lot of blood, sweat, and fuckin’ tears went into the making of this video.”

“It shows.”

Roll credits.

You scroll down to the comments.

“Danny in eyeliner? More like Daddy.”

His eyebrows raise.

“Excuse me?”

“I’d let Dan punch me in the face if he wanted.”

“Okay, you’re done.” He reaches for the laptop seated on your thighs, but you turn your body away, swiveling it out of his reach.

“I’M NOT GAY, BUT I’D SUCK THE _SKIN_ OFF OF DAN’S DICK!” you squeal gleefully. “This one has, like, eight exclamation points!”

“ _Give it_ ,” he commands, swiping the computer out of your grasp with a giggle, his face suddenly rosy from hairline to chin. “Jesus christ.”

“ _Fine_.”

As he taps and clicks, searching for the next video on the evening’s program, you surreptitiously reach for your phone and do some searching of your own.

“I want Danny to cum inside me-“

His head snaps up.

“- _and then eat the cum out_ ,” you finish in a dramatic whisper.

“ _What_ \- FUCK, _NO_!” He lunges for the phone, but you heave yourself off the couch and dart to the adjoining bathroom, sliding the deadbolt home just as he approaches the door.

He howls and jiggles the handle, but you swipe past Amanda’s messages and keep reading, making sure to raise your voice so he can hear you, because you’re courteous like that.

“I’D SELL MY OWN MOTHER INTO SLAVERY FOR THE CHANCE TO FUCK DAN AVIDAN!” you crow.

His response is muffled, but the laughter in his voice is evident.

“I’D SELL _YOU_ INTO SLAVERY TO MAKE YOU FUCKIN’ SHUT UP.”

 

**************

 

_“Then after sex I’ll cryyyyyyy…”_

A noise of surprised delight bursts from your throat.

“So you wrote this one from life, then…”

Danny scoffs.

“Okay, that was, like, _once_.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You whip around to look him directly in the eye, dislodging the quilt that you two now share. “I can think of three just off the top of my head.”

“Fuck off, no you can’t,” he laughs, adjusting the quilt over your lap again.

You raise your eyebrows at him, silently giving him the opportunity to revoke his challenge.

He doesn’t.

“Number one!” You whip a finger into the air. “How about _literally the first time we had sex._ ”

“Come _on_.” You don’t know how he manages to somehow roll his eyes with his entire body, but he does. “So many factors contributed to those tears.”

“Such as?”

“Such as I was a little baked. Such as it was magical and beautiful. Such as I was being deflowered by my best friend, a _nd_ , if you’ll _recall_ …” he looks at you pointedly, “…realizing I was completely in love with your oblivious ass. So, I think I’ll give myself that one.”

“Oh my god, remember when we snuck upstairs afterwards for those frozen eggrolls, and your mom was still up?”

 _“God.”_ He slaps a hand over his face and groans low in his throat. “And she, like, fuckin’ _immediately_ read it all over us?” The hand drags downwards, pulling his features and his glasses with it. “ _Okay_ , as super delightful and not at all humiliating as this memory is, you still have to come up with two more to prove your point…wait, remind me why I wanted to do this again?”

“ _Toolatealreadystarted_ , number two!” A second finger. “…The night we got engaged.”

“You cried too. Doesn’t count. Next.”

“I don’t know if the judges approved that rule, but okay, number three!” You wave the number slowly in front of your face. “…The night we broke up.”

He just stares at you, incredulous.

“Seriously? Bringing out the big guns, huh?”

Somewhere inside there’s a sharp twinge of old hurt, but your victory outweighs it by far.

“Am I wrong, though?”

“You’re not wrong, I did cry. As did you, though, so, judges?....” He looks just past your shoulder, then nods with great self-importance. “Yes, the judges all agree that a double-cry invalidates the incident, sorry. Also, all three of those were _major_ events in my life…”

“Fine, what about-“

“OKAY, OKAY, I’M A HUGE FUCKIN’ SAP!” he yells, the end of his sentence dissolving into piercing giggles.

“I know.” You pat his head and he swats you away. “God, that was such a mistake.”

“The breakup sex?” he asks, grinning.

“ _Yyyup_.”

“I just remember, like, goopy faces and nobody cumming.”

“Charming.”

“Thank you.”

 

****************

 

You come back from a trip to the bathroom to find Danny fast asleep under the blanket, curled up against the haphazard pile of throw pillows but still mostly upright. Gentle breaths sway the couple coils of hair that have migrated to his face, and his glasses are pushed slightly askew.

You’re about to rouse him, but when you remember that this busy dude needs the sleep -- and that you technically have a job to do -- you instead clear your workspace of empty food cartons.

Before you settle in, though, you fish out your laptop, grab your headphones, and pull up Youtube. And then for the first time in a very long time, the opening strains of “Hands on the Water” reach your ears.

               

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for part two later this weekend! I mean, if you want to. You know. And stuff. Cool.
> 
> Shit's about to get REAL, yo...


	8. A Surprise - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, part 2!

*Continued from previous chapter*

You’re on your third pass through the album and just about finished sorting papers when at the edge of your vision, Danny stirs a little before bolting upright.

“Morning,” you tease, removing your earbuds.

For a few seconds, the poor man looks like he has no idea where he is. You’re able to make out a look of total bewilderment on the parts of his face that peek through staticky frizz.

“Fuck.” He straightens his glasses, then rubs his hands together and uses them to smooth his hair back, revealing the tinge of regret that had crept into his features. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m so sorry.”

You chuckle as he cringes and uses the back of his wrist to wipe away the bit of drool at the corner of his mouth.

“You obviously needed it, dude. That toilet flushes louder than any other on the face of the earth, and even that didn’t wake you up.”

His chuckle becomes more of a “ _hnnngh_?” as he stretches his long arms skyward, arching his back with a satisfying crackle.

“What are you listening to?”

“Actually…” You yank the headphone cord out of the laptop with a flourish.

_“-you saw, white and yellow lights blink off…”_

He grins.

“Shut up. Really?”

“Really. This is a great fucking album, dude. You should be proud.”

“Thank you.” This comes with a slightly bashful smile. “I am. You still listen to it, though?”

You blink.

“Huh. I guess this is actually the first time innn…” Your words trail off as you search your brain.

“Five years?” he guesses with a frown.

“Oh.” It clubs you over the head. Duh. “Yeah, I guess it’s been five years.”

“I’m sorry it was ruined for you.” The frown deepens, spreading to the rest of his face.

“Technically, I ruined it for myself.” You keep your tone playful so as to not betray the distinct heaviness in your heart.

But there’s some sadness around the edges of the smile he gives you this time.

“Technically.”

When you go to pause the video, your eye is drawn to a Recommended Video thumbnail you hadn’t noticed before.

“’Firefly’? Shit-… _Danny_!” A punch lands solidly on his arm. “ _There’s new Skyhill music?!”_

Much to your surprise, a strange mix of fear and remorse passes over his face as he rubs his bicep.

“Uh, it’s just the one song, but, ahh-“ He presses a tight fist to his lips. “You-…um…fuck…”

You frown a little, baffled by his reaction.

"Should I not listen to it?"

He squeezes his eyes shut and speaks against the fist.

“It-...you don’t have to. It’s not-…um…”

"Why are you being so fucking weird about it?" you giggle. "Is it terrible? Are you desperately ashamed?"

It hits you then, and your stomach drops to your feet.

“Wait…Danny, is-…” you whisper to your lap. “Did you write this about me?”

He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, which was an answer in itself, but then finally -

“It’s inspired by you, yes.”

Your head suddenly swims with familiar scathing lyrics about heartbreak and betrayal, and you blink furiously against tears that form at a rapid rate.

“I’m sorry." Your voice is tight as you study your knees. “It’s really shitty of me to be upset. I _definitely_ deserve this.”

He takes your hand in both of his.

“No, sweetheart, it’s not like that.” He squeezes. “Hey, will you please look at me?”

Your drag your gaze reluctantly up to his, and the sincerity you find there calms your brain a little but you continue to beat yourself up internally.

“You don’t need to coddle me, man,” you continue with a dry, humorless smile. “I know I earned my place in your diss track catalogue.”

“Would you _stop_?” Slightly amused eyes search yours. “It’s not like the other Skyhill stuff. It’s not angry, or even all that sad, really.”

“But it’s about our breakup?” you ask, feeling just a bit less terrible.

He releases your hand to shove his into the mop on his head, and he thinks for a few moments, eyes on the coffee table and his mouth offset.

“It’s about letting go,” he says quietly, and as he releases his hair it spills down over his forehead. He brushes it to each side with a forefinger. “It’s about looking back with nostalgia, but also making peace with fuckin’ hard truths. You can-…you can listen to it, if you want.”

You stare at your computer. At the scrawled font and howling wolf silhouette that were once so familiar.

“Are you sure?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a crooked grin.

“Hell, it’s your song.”

You click the thumbnail.

               

As you listen, following along with the lyrics gracing the screen, the heavy ache returns to your heart with a vengeance, and suddenly it’s a little harder to breathe.

“Danny-…” you begin in a strained whisper, avoiding his gaze again. You don’t know why you need to know, but you do. “…When did you write this?”

A few moments pass. They’re silent and still, save for the music dancing in the air and the thudding of your heart in your chest as you stare at the computer.

“Three years ago.” He shifts, crossing his arms in front of him as he leans back. "It took a couple years for me to get there.” You can barely hear the next sentence. “I held on for a while.”

Your eyes burn with oncoming tears as guilt and shame boil inside your body.

You don’t ask why he held on, because you know exactly why. It’s the same reason you had to shut down completely after the split.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, braving a look into his face again. “Fuck, I’m-… _fuck_.”

He smiles a little, but you can’t even begin to as the tears start to seep out onto your skin.

“No, you were right to do it. I knew that even back then.” He strokes your wet cheek with gentle, reassuring fingers. “It just took a while for me to heal, but that was my own fault. I wouldn’t let go. I even held on to the fuckin’ ring for a couple years.”

“You could have sold it to pay your starving artist bills,” you joke weakly, smearing your eyes with the wrist of your sleeve.

“Tell me about it,” he chuckles. “You know what I did with it for, like, two years instead?”

“What?” you ask, totally reflexively. You’re not sure if you actually want to know.

“Dreamed about chasing after you.” The humor in his voice is gone. He leans back into the cushions, resting his head against the back of the couch and staring up at the ceiling. “Dreamed about finding you and begging you to come back to me.  Every _fuckin’_ day, I’d-“ His throat makes a wet click as it closes up. “It was so stupid and harmful.”

You choke a little, and more tears slide down your face as you watch the strain on his. He swallows thickly, lips tight and thin. His eyes close in a long, firm blink, and when he opens them again they’re wet. He swallows once more, still staring at the ceiling as “Firefly” ends and “Glass Doors” begins.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t.” Your voice gurgles in your phlegmy throat. “I don’t think I would have had the strength to say no. And then-…”

That’s when he makes his own choking noise, his mouth popping open with a ragged inhale.

“And then it wouldn’t have worked. I know.” He lifts his head again, locking red eyes on yours. “I had a lot of growing up to do.”

A painful twist clenches your heart as your face crumples.

And then suddenly you’re tucking yourself under his arm, pressing your cheek to his unsteady chest. He slides his arms around your back, holding you tightly to him, and smushes his face to the top of your head. You pull your legs up, curling your body into itself, and he strokes your hair as you both cry softly together.

And as you do so, a feeling of release lightens the heavy weight in your body – even as it sags tiredly against his – and loosens the ache of tightness in your heart.

 

It’s about six songs before your eyes stop leaking and you’re blanketed in a strange, utterly drained calm. When tender, soothing hands absentmindedly rub your back and his chest swells in a slow, steady rhythm under your face, you know he feels it too. You could easily fall asleep in this moment, with your arm resting comfortably along his ribcage.

 “Hey, Danny?”

“Yeah, babygirl,” he murmurs against your scalp.

“Can I ask you something?”

His hand comes up to wrap around the one you have laying curled on his sternum.

“You can ask me anything. You know that.”

He waits patiently as you slip your hand into his, wrestling with yourself over how to word your question.

“How did it get better? I mean, what changed to let you let go?”

“You mean, how did I achieve this astounding level of enlightenment?” he chuckles, grazing your knuckles with his thumb. “Believe it or not, it was _not_ finding out you were pregnant by your new boyfriend. You’d think that that would have been a heavy dose of reality for me, buuut _nope!_ ”

You smile, wiping your face with the hem of your shirt before nestling further into his side.

“It was the meditation and therapy, honestly,” he continues, lifting an arm briefly so you can comfortably adjust your position, and then lowering it to wrap over your shoulders. “It took me a while to start either, but once I did, they were lifesavers. They helped me just, like, accept what I lost and embrace the changes in my life, y’know? It really helped to remind me that we’d done fuckin’ _everything_ we could and it still didn’t work.”

“We really did give it a good fight, didn’t we?” you say almost wistfully.

“Damn right, we did.”

“With the help of your parents’ money,” you cringe. “I felt terrible about that. I still do. All that contribution and it didn’t even pay off.”

“I tried to refund their money a couple years ago, but they refused to accept it.” His chin comes to rest on the top of your head as idle fingers twirl the ends of your hair. “‘We were fighting for your relationship,’ they said, ‘not engaging in a business transaction.’”

“God _dammit_ , they’re the best,” you sigh. “I can’t believe they stuck with us through so many counselors. As if it was something the trained professionals were doing wrong...”

“Can’t deny the soothing, all-encompassing power of fuckin’ denial,” he laughs. “But you finally broke through the bullshit and did what I couldn’t.”

A tightness squeezes your heart again as you stare at the entwined hands on his chest, but it lets up quickly this time.

“God, it was so fucking hard, though,” you mutter.

“But are you happy now?”

You smile, sitting upright so you can look him in the face.

“I am.” A warmth fills your chest when you realize you’re not having to lie to him. “I wish I could spend more time with Mo and I wish I had the time to write, but…I’m really happy.”

He smiles too, sweeping a few wayward strands of hair off your forehead with a careful hand.

“Then it was the right choice.”

“Are _you_ happy?”

“Overall, yes. Very.” He pauses a moment. “And I know that we wouldn’t have gotten to do what we’ve done if we’d stayed together.”

You nod as your heart gives yet another squeeze. This one lets up quickly too, but it brings with it a telltale burning behind your eyes.

“I know. It doesn’t make looking back any easier, but you’re totally right. Aah! _…_ ” You press the heel of your hand below your eye to ward off the waterworks. “Jesus _fuck_ , I don’t normally cry this much, I swear!”

“Dude, it’s fine. Again…” he jabs his thumbs at his face,“…world champion cryer.”

The feeling passes, and you shake it off with a toss of your head and a huff.

“I just don’t want you to think that, like, this is my every day anymore, you know?”

“No, I know you’re doing well,” he says gently. “Today is-…it was a lot.”

“I’m really glad you’re here, though.”

“I am too, sweetheart. I’m so happy that we fuckin’ finally got to talk about this. We never really got the chance.”

“Yeah, my bad.” A sheepish grimace pulls at your features.

“Hey, better late than never. That was cathartic as hell, so thank you.”

 “This got really fucking heavy,” you exhale with a noisy puff.

He laughs.

“It did.”

“I think it’s time for more music.”

“Yeah? You sure you’re not bored with it? I’m not just, like, blindly forcing NSP stuff on you, am I?”

“Dude, I hadn’t heard anything since _NSFW._ I needed to catch up,” you insist. “We haven’t even made it past _Attitude_ _City_ yet. Please?”

 

You work your way through a playlist containing both _Under_ _the_ _Covers_ _Volume_ 1 and, to your delight, an unreleased _Volume_ 2.

“It’s not finished,” he’d warned you beforehand. “Some of the tracks are still rough cuts, so-“

“Seriously, I don’t _care_ ,” you’d said, flopping lightly exasperated hands into your lap. “I mean, if you don’t want me to listen yet, that’s totally fine, but don’t not play them because you’re worried about them not being perfect yet. I’m just psyched to get the chance to hear it before the rest of the world. It would be an honor, honestly.”

He’d allowed it.

“There’s so much Rush in here, Jesus christ,” you observe, snuggled under the quilt with your arms wrapped around a pillow and your legs tucked up under you.

His body mirrors yours under his half of the quilt, but his legs spill out the bottom.

“Are you surprised?”

“You tried _so_ hard to get me into them,” you snicker.

“Listen, it’s not my fault you don’t recognize fuckin’ good music when you hear it.”

“That explains why I like NSP so much.”

His jaw drops.

Yours drops too in gentle mockery.

“Ouch.”

Limelight ends with a crash of drums.

“What’s next?” you whisper, eyes wide.

“I don’t know,” he whispers back, mimicking your expression. “It’s on shuffle.”

You cross your eyes at him and he giggles.

Another song comes to life from his laptop on the coffee table.

You know what it is from the first note.

“You fucking didn’t,” you wheeze, your mouth agape.

“I fucking did.”

“Holy shit.”

“I was really hoping it would come up soon…”

You clamp your hand down on his arm.

“Danny.” There’s a great intensity in your voice. “Tell me you remember it.”

“Please. We haven’t done it in 20 ye-“ -- he leaps off the couch and assumes a power stance with his long legs spread heroically -- “- _WHEN THE LAST EAGLE FLIES OVER THE LAST CRUMBLING MOUNTAIN_ …” His arms slowly undulate in a dramatic representation of flapping wings.

With a shriek, you jump to your feet.

And then together you perform the terribly embarrassing dance you’d created in total love and sincerity as a team of awkward children. Had there been anybody left in the building at 11:10 PM, they surely would have been drawn to the room by the sound of raucous joy, only to find two people in their 30s circling the couch, swooping and swaying, dipping and diving with arms that sweep grandly.

Dan’s face flushes with laughter and his efforts, and yours probably isn’t much better because you’re breathless and practically crying.

Your body eventually slows down because you’re not 11 anymore, and you lean firmly against the back of the couch with a huff. He slows to a stop with you, standing in front of you and puffing between giggles.

When you look up into his face, it’s stretched into an exhilarated grin. His body may have ceased its movement, but his eyes still dance with merriment. The moment they meet yours, though, the smile falls a little and the laughter stops in his throat. At this, your stomach flip-flops enthusiastically and your heavy breath catches in your lungs.

His gaze, locked on yours, glows with affection and an aching sincerity you used to see with such regularity, and it seizes your heart in its tight grip.

He takes just a half a step closer. Close enough to raise a hand to cup your cheek.

Fingertips graze the skin just behind your ear, and the delicate touch sends a prickling swarm of goosebumps out over your back and shoulders.

_‘Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god…’_

“I missed you _so_ fuckin’ much, babygirl,” he whispers, the last word hitching as quickly-watering eyes search yours.

Blood surges in your veins and roars loudly in your ears - so loudly, in fact, that you can no longer make out the swell of the song still spilling from the laptop speakers.

He’s going to kiss you.

He’s going to _fucking_ kiss you.

You whisper his name and place a gentle hand on his ribs, and even you don’t know if it’s a protest or an invitation until your fingers tangle in the fabric of his t shirt.

He leans in, sliding the hand back into your hair to cradle your head as he does-

_‘-ygodohmygodoh-‘_

\- and he fucking kisses you.

When his lips brush yours, tender and tentative and sweet, a shudder runs through your body as a rush of warmth floods your heart and also not your heart. It nearly knocks the feet out from under you.

 A tumble of curls tickles your face, and you let loose a soft moan against his mouth.

Had your brain been able to formulate thoughts in that moment, there would have been only one:

Fuck, you were definitely still in love with him.

Before you can draw him closer and deepen the kiss the way your body and your heart so desperately long to, he instead pulls back just enough to break it and presses his forehead to yours. He swallows, breathing hard and fast through his nose. The hand that’s not still cradling your head comes to rest on your lower back, trembling and ever so slightly holding you to him.

And still you can’t formulate a thought, so focused instead on the brutal pounding of your heart against your ribs, the rubbery shake of your knees, and the rapid rise and fall of his stomach under your hand.

“(y/n)-“

A single guitar note.

_“She packed my bags last night, pre-flight…"_

Your eyes spring open and you jerk away, uttering a soft cry.

He immediately drops his hands and takes a wide-eyed step back.

_“…zero hour, nine A.M….”_

You fold your trembling arms over your torso and stare pointedly at the floor, eyes brimming with sudden tears.

“ _…and I’m gonna be high as a kite by then…”_

 “Um-…“ he falters. “I’m-“

“I think you need to go.”

There’s a dreadful moment of nothing before his sneakers leave your blurry, limited range of sight and footsteps shuffle towards the doorway.

_“I miss the earth so much, I miss my wife…”_

They stop.

_“…it’s lonely out in space…”_

“I spent those first couple years trying to convince myself I wasn’t still in love with you,” comes his quiet voice. “Just with the idea of you. Memories and shit, y’know? That’s the only thing that managed to keep me from coming after you.”

_“…on such a timeless flight…”_

“Danny…” A burning droplet rolls down the side of your nose. You’re still staring hard at the ground when the rest of your body decides to join in on the shaking.

“Therapy helped me be honest with myself and accept that my feelings were still genuine. And that they were just something I’d have to deal with because they’re a part of me and they’re not going anywhere.”

_“And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time-”_

“Danny, please…” You screw your eyes shut.

_“-‘til touch down brings me ‘round again to find-”_

“I love you, babygirl,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. He needs you to hear it. “I still love you. So fuckin’ much.”

A wet, ragged gasp tears through your chest as your heart crumbles. At the same time, a sharp pain blooms in your gut, and you wrap your arms more closely around yourself.

“Fuck-…” The word, tremulous and thin, squeaks out through the ugly, grief-twisted grimace into which your face has stretched itself.

_“-I’m not the man they think I am at home, oh, no, no, no…”_

“Seeing you today felt like coming home,” he continues softly. “After a long vacation I didn’t want to take, but needed to.” He’s crying. You can hear it in the halting rhythm of his breath and the tightness of his throat.

“Please, _stop_!” you croak, covering your face with both quaking hands and only barely holding back a throat-shredding sob. Tears begin pooling in your palms instantly.   

_“-burnin’ out his fuse up here alone…”_

He stops.

And there’s a long silence which, though your fault, is fucking unbearable, because that’s when the NOPE box shatters and 19 years of forbidden memories flood your senses.

“Go,” you whisper. “Please, Danny, just-…”

It’s another few torturous moments before the music stops abruptly with the snap of his laptop closing, and the resulting quiet is even more excruciating. The watery inhale that’s he’s clearly trying to keep control over is deafening in your ears.

Hasty footsteps carry him from the room.

You keep your shit more or less together until you hear the front doors open and close but then, doubling over and clutching your burning stomach, you release the sob that had been clawing at your throat.

You stagger your way around to the front of the couch and drop onto it, a scream gathering in your lungs and threatening to rip its way out of you.

_‘-fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-‘_

You grope around for your phone.

God knows why.

Maybe on some level you were hoping for a message from him. But instead you’re greeted by a final, all-caps text from Amanda, bold and bright on your suddenly blinding home screen.

_> >>  DANNYS STILL FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. This hurt my heart.


	9. 2010

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is extremely short, so I may very well post the next one this weekend. I'm having trouble walking that line between, like, being excited to share stuff and just overzealously BOMBARDING people with content, you know? Bleh.
> 
> Also, I acknowledge that Game of Thrones started in 2011, and therefore wouldn't exist yet here. This chapter originally took place in 2011, but I had to bump the timeline up a little for reasons. I decided to keep the reference because I feel like it fits really well here, so I acknowledge the anachronism but...whatever. :-P

 

*2010*

 The snow crunches under Dan’s boots, and with every step the pouf on his Giants beanie bounces against your cheek.

The blizzard hadn’t been at all as devastating as had been predicted. Sure, snow drifts up to seven feet now creep up the side of the buildings and it had been cold as fuck for a few days, but the roads and sidewalks are blanketed in a reasonable four inches and the powerlines remain intact. A six hour Game of Thrones marathon at Amanda and Jose’s place had allowed ample time for the blizzard to slow.

It’s 3AM and save for the crisp, steady _*piff!*_ of Dan’s footsteps, the Bed-Stuy street is quiet and peaceful.

 _‘…all is calm, all is bright…’_ You hum dreamily, just drinking in the sights around you with eyes a little heavy from the hot, spiced wine you’d sipped all night long.

White-dusted wreaths and garlands adorn each lamp post. Snowy windows glow with the warmth of colored bulbs and, in a few, the glimmering light of a tree.

Lazy snowflakes drift before your eyes, lightly coating Dan’s beanie and your arms where they drape around his neck. He hitches you a little further up onto his back, and you nuzzle your face into the side of his neck and breathe him in deeply, bobbing slightly as he walks.

_’…sleep in heavenly peace…’_

“Hey, babygirl,” he says softly, nudging your forehead with his chin as he rounds another deserted corner.

“Hmm.”

“I’ve been thinking. A lot. Like, a whole fuckin’ lot.”

“What about?” you ask sleepily, lifting your face from his shoulder so you’re not speaking directly into his eardrum.

“About us. About how much I love you.“ There’s a smile in his voice. “About how I want to marry the shit out of you.”

Your breath cuts off in your throat, and he turns his head a little.

“Would you want to marry me, beautiful?” His tone radiates warmth and hope. “I have a ring at home, I swear, I just didn’t know I would do this tonight and-”

“Oh my god,” you choke through a tight throat, shock cutting right through your loopy buzz.

“Oh my g-…wait, is-…is that good or bad?...(y/n)? Fuck-” He cranes his head first to the right, then to the left, the pouf whipping you in the face as he does so. “Hey! Is that g-… _fuck why did I do this when I can’t see you_ , okay down. _Down.”_

You stumble a bit when he practically drops you to your feet and spins to face you.

He doesn’t have time to register your watery smile before you leap onto him, wrapping your arms and legs around the frame that’s thin even through a winter coat. He staggers but stays upright and holds you to him tightly, his heart pounding rapidly against your own chest.

“Is that a yes?” he whispers.

A gurgling inhale inflates your lungs.

“Hodor,” you mumble against his ear, your heart exploding.

His booming laugh sounds way too loud in the silence of the snowy night, bouncing off the brick buildings and echoing down the empty Brooklyn block. He squeezes you and uses his teeth to tear off a mitten before plunging a hand into your hair, cradling the back of your head. Your tears mingle with his and there are a few moments of contended silence before he speaks again.

“Will you still want to marry me when you’ve sobered up?”

“Hodor,” you say through a wide grin.

He chuckles and gently rocks you side to side.

The sharp squeal of a window on its track pierces the quiet.

“SHUT!…THE _FUCK!_ …UP!”

Dan peels his wet face from yours.

“Sorry, man, just proposing to my girlfriend,” he calls back in a placating voice.

“Well, do it somewhere else. _Asshole._ ” The window slams shut.

“Whoops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're interested, look for more this weekend (maybe...if I can just get the fuck over worrying about too much content! Such a dumb concern, but hey, there's a LOT of me in the narrator *COUGH*...dumb concerns are pretty standard!).


	10. A Closet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH SHHHHHIIIIIIIIII-
> 
> And potential trigger warning: The end of this chapter features a panic attack, with depersonalization and derealization, described in detail.
> 
> Also, fun fact: This story was originally conceived as a one-shot featuring just this scene, an emotional, bittersweet bang sesh between these two former partners with a fuckton of history. I couldn't figure out how to organically cram in all that back story without it feeling like super wordy, ham-fisted exposition, so it just kind of...expanded. :-P

                 

*2017*

>>> (7:06 AM)   _I’m so, so, SO sorry. Can we please talk?_

>>> (7:07 AM)   _Your mom forced your number on me years ago and believe me, I fought with myself over actually using it right now, but I didn’t know what else to do._

>>> (7:08 AM)   _I love you. I swear to god, though, yesterday was not the final stage of some long game ploy to win you back. I didn’t intend for the night to end with me just fuckin laying all that on you, I swear. Please, can we talk?_

 _> >>_ (7:08 AM)   _I love you. Please._

 

***********

 

You press your hands and forehead to the cold concrete wall of the venue’s first floor supply closet as the vibrations from TWRP’s bass rattle your brain around in your skull.

It’s hard to think when your brain is rattling.

The air around you is cool and still. And although every once in a while you’ll either briefly wonder about the age cut-off for shaken baby syndrome or curse the man who’d ruined everything the night before, for the most part you’re able to focus only on your breathing.

You hadn’t slept more than an hour. How could you possibly, when all night your brain had veered sharply from anger to grief and back again? The fluctuations would have continued throughout the day even if you hadn’t received the texts from an unknown number early that morning.

God _dammit_. In just one day he’d dismantled the perfectly fulfilling, relatively simple existence for which you’d sacrificed so much and worked so hard to build. Without even trying, he’d undone it all.

You’d burst into tears when your alarm had screeched its warning. You’d fumed as you’d mindlessly grabbed a flimsy wrap dress from the floor, tugging it onto your body in your furious haste. You’d seethed and choked back tears on and off from the moment you’d arrived at work, but still somehow managed to quiet your screaming, whirling mind just enough to fulfill your blessedly distracting duties.

Thank god your duties that day didn’t involve actually meeting up with the band, because then you would have followed through with your tentative plan of calling out sick. It wouldn’t have been a total lie – the stomach ache that started the previous night still hadn’t let up. Instead you’d steadfastly avoided not only the source of your anger from the moment he’d arrived at the venue an hour ago, but Jamie as well. Her eager, expectant grin morphing into a pitying frown was one of the last things in the world you’d wanted to see…so you’d sworn you were just tired when she’d inquired about your drawn, peaked face, and kept your eyes down whenever you couldn’t slip away.

You did not, however, manage to miss Brian’s painfully concerned eyes for the split second they’d locked on yours before you’d skittered out of the break room.

 

The _WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP_ of the opening act’s pulse throbs in your ears as you just breathe in the privacy your go-to getaway, the often quiet little sanctuary you’d discovered soon after starting this job.

Two more hours.

After your break was over, you’d have only two hours to go and then the show would be finished - you could go home and never have to think about this messy disaster ever again.

 _‘Fuck you, Danny,"_ you think distantly, a momentary lurching sensation tugging inside your chest.

Then without warning, an aggressively bright light penetrates your closed eyelids.

_‘Fuck.’_

Your fingers curl into fists on the vibrating wall and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter, but even without looking, you know _exactly_ who stands in the open door, because of fucking course he does. That person is no doubt silhouetted by the light from the hallway, which lasts only a few seconds before disappearing again.

The smell of leather and sandalwood alerts you to the fact that he’s still in the room, but it’s the scent slowly and subtly increasing in strength that tells you he’s approaching you with reluctance. When you realize this, your heart decides to hammer a painful rhythm against your ribs and your hands begin to tremble against the concrete.

_‘FUCK.’_

You honestly don’t know if you want him to stay or go until his hand comes to rest gently over your clenched fist and you find yourself relaxing it, allowing him to entwine his fingers with yours.

A shaky breath inflates your lungs as your heart and stomach take a great leap, and the tears you hadn’t realized were forming start their slow descent down your face.

_*-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-*_

The press of his forehead against the back of your skull. His breath, fast and hot on your neck. The sudden ache in your chest and between your thighs.

If you’d been struggling not to think before, you certainly aren’t struggling now as your brain simply stops functioning and there is nothing left but warmth and wanting.

His other hand, trembling slightly, grazes your left hip, and the heat of it radiates right through the thin fabric.

It’s a good thing you’re already bracing yourself on the wall, because your knees nearly give out when his lips brush the skin on the back of your neck.

“Oh, _GOD_ ,” you think you say in full voice, but your mind is dreamy and the music is so loud that no other sound reaches your ears. You lean heavily into him, your head falling back onto his chest. The fingers wrapped around your hip close into a fist, bunching the skirt within it and sliding the fabric along your thigh.

He places a kiss where your neck meets your shoulder, and you have to throw an arm up and back around his neck because the action makes your legs wobble like a newborn foal.

But then he untangles his hand from yours on the wall, brings it to his lips, and presses a gentle kiss into your palm.

The tenderness of the unexpected gesture abruptly and violently shoves you out of your trance, and your eyes snap open.

_*-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-*_

Filled with a rage that all of a sudden boils in your chest, you whirl around with every intention of smacking that stupid face of his for making you feel so helpless, so fucking easily. But the look on that stupid face, illuminated only by the eerie green glow of exit sign above the door, stops you cold.

Even in the darkness you can see that his lips are parted, allowing for the rapid intake and release of air as he breathes hard. His wide eyes burn with equal parts love and desire, at war with pain and hesitation as you stare each other down.

Something inside you snaps.

 _‘Don’t,’_ your brain says.

You do.

Your hands flash out and grip the front of his jacket before yanking him down to crash his lips onto yours, clashing your teeth together. He stumbles a little, stunned into inaction for half a second, but then you practically feel the astonished _OH!_ lightbulb that clicks on above his head.

You want to cry when his arms envelop your body and he kisses you back, hard, holding you to him so tightly you can barely breathe.

 You don’t care.

Not when you’re feeling the press of his hips against you for the first time in five years and you realize he’s already halfway to a raging hard-on.

When his tongue glides over your lower lip, begging entrance, you give it – and you’re almost knocked on your ass by the searing heat of his mouth. You release a moan that’s silent underneath the music, but the vibration that tickles your lips immediately after tells you he’d felt it and responded with one of his own.

His arms loosen just enough for him to slide his hands under your ass and hoist you up against the wall. Your skirt falls open when you wrap your legs around his waist and, without a moment’s hesitation, you grind yourself against his hardening cock as his hips hold you in place.

He breaks away from your lips with what feels like a harsh “ _fuck,_ ” and that’s exactly the word that comes to your mind when you do it again. His hands squeeze your ass and he grinds his hips into yours in return, lowering his head to burn the skin of your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses and second day stubble. With an abrupt, single shiver, you break out in full-body goosebumps and shove your hands into his mass of hair.

You’d missed the feel of his mop tangled around your fingers _so_ much, and now there’s more of it than ever. Even more than that, you’d missed the sounds he’d produce when you’d make a fist and gently pull, right at the scalp, which you do now with both hands. You’re rewarded with a gasp against your neck and a sharp jerk of his hips, which push another soundless moan out of you.

As your dress starts to work itself open with your movements, the wrap aspect becoming much more of a precarious drape, the shoulders slide down your arms and he eagerly ravages the exposed skin of your chest and shoulders. Your hands clench in his hair again when you feel the scrape of his teeth on the skin just below your collar bone, and then the velvety smoothness as he soothes the mark with his tongue.

_*-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-*_

He pushes his forehead against yours and his breath puffs over your lips as the two of you find your urgent rhythm there in that mostly dark closet, rolling your hips against one another at a nearly frantic pace as heat consumes your body. His grip on your ass both supports your weight and encourages you as you grind yourself again and again on his now-solid cock, until the ache becomes unbearable.

Your only driving force is your desperate arousal as you – to his great confusion, judging by the look on his face -- wriggle out of his grasp and drop to the floor. You yank your skirt open but your tights only make it halfway down your thighs before he takes your face in his hands and fixes his sweet and sizzling gaze onto yours as he towers over you.

His mouth moves and although you can’t hear what he says, you read the question clear as day in his eyes – _Are you sure?_

You know it’s a bad idea. You know you’ll probably regret it. But all you care about in that moment is that moment, in which all you want is him. His kiss and his fire and his love and his embrace. The earth-shattering skills you know he possesses. You want relief, provided howfuckingever, for the throbbing at your core.

A sharp nod is all you can give. It’s enough for him.

Before you can even process it, your back is on the wall, your hands are pinned next to your head, and he’s kissing you with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs. You grip at his hands as he moves down to your neck again, his stubble scraping in delicious contrast to the softness of his mouth. Your entire body threatens to go up in flames when he sucks another mark into your skin,

He releases just one of your hands, which immediately finds purchase around the back of his neck, before he wrenches your panties down to meet your tights at mid-thigh.

He locks eyes with you and you positively tremble in anticipation, spreading your thighs as far as you can within the restraint of the fabric. You don’t break his gaze as he reaches a hand between the two of you, but you do slide your arm further around his neck.

Air hisses through your teeth and your hips twitch forward, just a little, when his fingers make contact with the dripping, almost painful tightness between your legs.

In just a whisper of a touch, he slowly rubs the flats of three fingers along your slit. You push towards them, aching for more friction, but he moves with you, pulling back just enough. You don’t have the chance to whine in response to his teasing before he’s at it again, slowly, slooowly stroking you with his fingers, gradually increasing in pressure as you shakily clutch the hand still securing yours to the wall by your head. His eyes remain trained on yours but when he slides his touch up to circle your clit, your head falls back against the wall with a moan and you nearly cry in relief.

_*-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-WHUMP-*_

He releases your hand, which makes a beeline to grip his leather-clad forearm. He continues to support himself on the wall above your head but you wobble a bit as he bends down to kiss what he can reach of your throat, the tickle of his curls setting your skin aflame. The arm that had been relying on his neck for stability searches for something – anything – to help you stand, because your rubbery legs certainly won’t do it. A shelf to your right will suffice, and your elbow crashes down onto it as he continues his leisurely circles over your sensitive nub.

You groan again when he slides one finger and then, shortly after, another into your swollen pussy. They’re his ring and middle fingers – even after all this time, you know them well - but the thought is torn from your brain with a gasp when he begins to pump them in and out of you. You are, however, very aware of the way the tendons in his forearm move under your grasp as he works you up, up, up, angling his entry just so. Just the way you’d want.

He tongues your neck and shifts his arm so he can press the heel of his hand against your clit. You cry out and this time he allows you to grind yourself into it.

 The zipper on his sleeve rasps the skin of your abdomen.

You’re keening now into the glowing, greenish dark of the closet. The music thumping through the wall also thumps through you, vibrating your entire being, but your legs are shaking all on their own, quaking and bowing on either side of his wrist. At this point the only things keeping you upright are the support of both the wall behind you and the shelf where your elbow sits.

His fingers increase to a rapid pace, plunging into you as you desperately move against his hand, your breath leaving your body in sharp little huffs. Your arm knocks loose a litter of small and, thankfully, empty boxes, and when they tumble to the floor, you barely notice.

You’re _so_ close.

He knows that. That’s why he pulls his head up from your neck and, although your own eyes are screwed shut and you can’t see it, you can _feel_ his gaze on your face, watching its every little change.

It’s the weight of his loving stare, the knowledge that it’s him that’s here with you, that ultimately pushes you over the edge and allows you to let go there in his arms.

If you’d been at all aware of your surroundings, you would have been grateful for the cover of TWRP’s storm of sound, because when your hips stutter and your muscles spasm around his fingers, a long, strangled moan leaves your throat. Stars burst behind your eyelids and you grip his forearm hard as fire explodes through your body.

He moves his palm away from your now oversensitive clit before slowly and gently bringing you down with just his fingers, kissing your shoulders as he does so.

When at last you’re firmly on the floor and not floating up in a euphoric cloud, when you finally melt into a limp, satiated pile of person, he wastes no time in crushing your quivering body to his chest. You shove your arms into his jacket and wrap them as tightly around his back as you can manage in your liquefied state, burying your face against his t shirt.

He’s speaking to you. You can’t hear his words, but his chest rumbles against you and even just that’s enough.

Just then, an angry voice cuts right through the door, shrill even over the music.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS DAN? I need him IN costume and on stage in 10! Have you seen Dan?”

_‘Fuck.’_

You allow your arms to slip from him and pull away.

The face staring down at you is sheepish and apologetic, with a forehead deeply lined in worry.

 _It’s okay,_ you tell him with little nod and a smile before going up on tiptoe to brush a kiss to those lines. They go smooth under your lips.

He then quickly and subtly wipes slick fingers on his jeans as you shimmy up your ruined panties and tights, now uncomfortably cold with lack of body heat.

You gesture to the prominent bulge in his jeans, and shrug with your hands up in question.

He looks down and back up with what’s clearly a giggle, then taps his wrist with a grin and a shake of his head. He pulls your hand to his mouth to kiss the backs of your fingers and then, with an exaggerated grimace, shoves his hand down the front of his pants to adjust himself.

Instead of laughing along with him, you’re suddenly fighting quite insistent tears as your chest squeezes painfully and your stomach ache returns. His brow furrows when he sees this, and before you know what you’re doing, you’re cupping his face in both your hands.

“I love you." You say it at a normal volume and he can't hear it, but you hope he understands. “I love you, Danny.”

He does.

This much is obvious when his mouth opens in a gasp and you see his chest spasm. Then his features twist up and he presses his lips together, nodding rapidly as he blinks back the tears hovering in his eyes.

You both know this doesn’t really mean much of anything. You’re not together. You don’t have a future. The only thing you’ve done is put yourselves in even deeper shit.

That’s when you feel the panic start to creep up the back of your skull, right where it always does before…

_‘Oh god oh god oh god what did we do fuck oh god-‘_

You push it down.

You swallow the terror, ignoring the prickly tingling in your hands and feet, and reach up to smooth his hair a little instead before motioning towards the door.

He has things to do.

He gives you a small, sad smile and a quick kiss, ignoring his own tears to wipe away yours before turning to the exit as you pull your dress back into place.

The feeling rises much faster than you expect it to when light once again spills into the closet, and you lean back solidly against the wall, clutching your chest because all of a sudden you can barely breathe. The music is too loud and your clothes are too tight and your skin itches and you can’t breathe and your diaphragm hurts and your stomach hurts and oh god fuck oh no oh no oh-

You close your eyes as the fear becomes too great and you fog over.

You start to drift.

You start to disassociate.

_‘ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod-‘_

The words spin on a furious loop in your brain as you lift up and out of your body.

On some level, you know what’s real. Somewhere within the crackling, dizzy, dream-like ether in which your consciousness now swims, you’re aware that you’re in the closet on the first floor and that your heart is sputtering and pounding erratically.

You’re reminded of that reality, dimly, when the man you’d thought had left your hideout takes your quaking hands in his.

Through the frantic, buzzing mist, you feel him place one of your own hands on his stomach, covering it with one of his. He does the same thing on you, holding your hand there right above your navel. His belly rises as he takes a deep breath in, holds it, and releases. Your mind grasps desperately at the sensation and the next time, you try to match your breathing to his, bringing your awareness the best you can to the slow swelling under your hand.

_‘Inhale, hold…exhalegodohgodohgodohgod…’_

Again.

_‘Inhale, hold…exhale...’_

It helps to ground you, but you’re still mostly floating somewhere other than this plane of existence.

He removes the hand covering yours on his belly and cups your cheek, brushing just under your eye with his thumb. You force your eyes open and look up –

 _‘-Danny’s here,’_ you think, absurdly.

And his eyes say, _I got you…stay here with me, babygirl._

This somehow cuts through the fog. His eyes and his hands help anchor you in reality as the two of you continue to breathe together.

_‘Inhale, hold…exhale….’_

 

It passes fairly quickly.

The moment you start to feel yourself come back to earth -- the moment you realize it’s almost over -- is, as always, one to cherish. The relief is evident on his face when he reads the relief on yours as you begin your descent back into your body, which is shaking aggressively as it always does after a dissociative spell.

It’s over.

He kisses your forehead and squeezes you to him again, releasing a hot rush of a sigh against your scalp as he gently rocks your trembling form side to side.

And then suddenly you’re fucking crying. Again. 

There’s no build-up to it. You’re not crying and then, as if someone flipped a switch, you are.

You’re glad that it’s done and you’re grateful for his help, but you can’t stop the waterfall of tears that cascades down your face as your teeth chatter. There’s a hitch in his chest when he feels your back heaving and he presses a tear-damp kiss into your hair, his arms squeezing you harder in response.

But you need out of there.

 _Now_.

You need away from this thing from which you’ve been actively sprinting for the past five years.

And so you do the only thing you know how to do.

You untangle yourself from his arms, yank the closet door open, and literally run away, smearing your hands over your face as you do. You make it only halfway down the long corridor before your mom steps into it, fussing with her backstage badge.

“Oh! Honey, there you are!” She goes to grab your arm as you rush by. “The sitter said she just put Mo down.”

“Mom, I-“

“Are you going to stand with me in the wi-“

“ _I’msorryIhavetogo_.” You jerk your arm out of her grasp and brush right past her, leaving her concerned voice drifting down the hallway after you. Within a minute and a half, you’re slamming your car door behind you.

The moment it bangs shut, you start to sob - loud, heaving sobs that wrench your body. You drape yourself over the steering wheel, pressing your forehead to its cool vinyl, and allow yourself to cry and cry and cry.

And drool, as you eventually discover once you start to get your shit together.

You fucked up. You fucked up big time.

Your phone buzzes like crazy in your purse, which you’d somehow remembered to grab as you’d barreled out the back door of the venue. With a watery hiccup and a feeling of dread gnawing at your stomach, you struggle to pull out your phone with shaky hands.

In addition to a few missed calls from both your mom and Danny, you find a large handful desperate texts:

>>> (8:27 PM)  _Fuck are you alright? I fucked up. I fucked up so hard_

 _> >> (_8:27 PM)  _I wasn’t thinking. I love you. I’m so SO fuckin sorry_

_> >> (8:28 PM) Are you ok? Please talk to me_

_> >> (_8:32 PM)  _Can we please please please talk? Please call me. Text me. Fucking email me. Anything. Please_

 _> >> (_8:32 PM)  _Or come by the hotel or something. Please. I’m at the Embassy Suites room 306. I’m so sorry. I love you. Please hear me out_

_> >> (8:33 PM) At least let me know you’re ok_

_> >> (_8:34 PM)  _I’m realizing now that that closet was probably your safe space at work and I totally fuckin invaded it and probably ruined that for you. I’m so fucking sorry. I swear to god I didn’t realize it at the time. I didn’t intend for what happened to ha_ (1 of 2)

>>> (8:34 PM)  _ppen I swear. Jesus fucking christ I’m so so sorry you had an attack oh my god. This is all my fuckin fault fuck_ (2 of 2)

 _> >> (_8:37 PM)   _I love you so much. Please babygirl_

 _> >> _ (8:38 PM)   _Please_

 _> >> _ (8:41 PM)   _I just ran into your mom. I’m sorry if she calls you on my behalf – that was not at all my intent. I’m so sorry_

 _> >> _ (8:45 PM)   _I hope you’re alright_

_> >>  (8:46 PM)  God I really fucked up_

 

And one from your mom:

>>>  (8:33 PM)   _Honey please call Danny ASAP he really needs to talk to you it’s urgent, ok love you bye - mom_

 

Anger. Anger is the only thing you feel.

If you were mad before, if you were previously oscillating between mad and sad, you’re absolutely fucking livid now. Rage surges through your veins as your vibrating hands compose a text message to your boss:

>>> (8:34 PM)   _Jamie – I just played Seven Minutes in Heaven with my ex-fiancé and then I freaked out and now I can’t be at work anymore tonight. See you Friday!_

 

DELETE.

 

>>> (8:35 PM)   _Jamie – I’ve been fighting a stomach ache all day, but it just now became unbearable and I really need to leave. I’m so sorry. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do tomorrow instead._

 

Your tires shriek as you peel out of the parking garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with writing the panic attack sequence for weeks - it was really difficult to come up with the details that made it feel genuine. But then a few weeks back I had a couple really panicky days. They didn't escalate into a full attack, but I decided to use that to access those negative feelings - and it worked! I had that part written in an hour, and I felt better after. I guess I'm saying this as a reminder (to myself and to others who similarly struggle) that sometimes acknowledging those awful feelings can lead to harnessing them and redirecting them into something productive and creative!
> 
> But I also acknowledge that this will not always be the case for me, and it may NEVER be the case for some people, because anxiety is a fucking asshole. :-P


	11. 2012

*2012*

The day you break up with Danny starts out great.

In fact, since entering couples’ counseling over a year prior, most of your days together had been great, and that day in late May is no exception.

The morning is lazy. Neither of you had been scheduled at your thankless (but bearable) day jobs, and Dan and Brian had had a marathon songwriting session late into the previous night, so you allow yourselves to stay in bed for an embarrassingly long time, snuggled close together and drifting in and out of sleep. Drifting in and out of kisses and giggling conversation. And eventually, in the languid tranquility of your half-dressed spooned position, drifting into making love. Adoration blooms in your heart and you bury a hand in his hair as he nuzzles his face into your flushed neck, practiced fingers working between your thighs in time with his slow and shallow thrusts, heart beating solidly and comfortingly against your back.

It’s almost noon by time you roll your asses out of your blanket haven, and even that’s only because you have a group lunch date to get to.

As your friends chatter around you, sharing their food and nursing their daytime-approved alcoholic beverages, you reach under the table and grasp his hand for no other reason than because you adore him and you want to. He kisses your forehead and runs his thumb over the simple engagement ring on your left hand, murmuring against your hairline that he loves you.

After a matinee at a local second-run theater and a long walk together with your fingers entwined, you head home for a night in. And by the time you finish copying down the recipe for the yakisoba that’s on that week’s meal plan, the bath Danny had drawn is full and steaming.

You’d been instructed by your counselor to soak together once a week in order to facilitate and encourage intimacy, nonverbal communication, and emotional bonding, and it was fucking working - the past year had been the happiest you two had ever spent together. Your communication had never been clearer or more productive. The sex had never been better. Sharing the limited space in your teeny Brooklyn apartment had never been easier.

You’d never loved him more.

Rather than spending all your free time cracking under the stress of planning the wedding, you’d each been encouraged to pursue interests you’d placed on the back burner - you, your writing and him, his music. The result was a fulfillment that was both shared and individual as you settled into the comfort and commitment of a long, unhurried engagement. Your relationship was solid and strong, save for one glaring exception – the same thing that had driven you to counseling in the first place.

When the problem hadn’t been solved with your initial counselor, you’d moved on to another.

And then another.

 _We’re working on it_ , you’d both say, buying you time, and it had been more than enough to justify what you’d both deep, deep, _deep_ down feared was just prolonging the inevitable. Especially when every other aspect of your relationship was _so_ good. And especially when his parents were contributing to the cost of the counseling, because they wanted this to work as much as you did.

 

After a long, comfortably quiet and sweetly intimate soak in the tub, you start the food prep.

And as you chop veggies, shuffling footsteps approach you from behind before he wraps his spindly arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“What can I do, babygirl?” he asks, tilting his head to read the recipe card. The damp ends of his hair tickle your cheek.

“Mmm…” you hum, letting your knife go slack as you relax into his chest. His skin still radiates the warmth it had drawn from the bath water. “…dice the chicken? And grab the pan?”

“On it.” He blows a raspberry on the side of your neck, causing you to squeal and shove his face away with your shoulder.

“Really?” you giggle. “You realize I’m holding an extremely sharp object, right?”

“Sorry,” he says, a grin brightening his tone. “I meant…” He places a kiss on the same spot before pulling the second cutting board from its home on top of the crappy microwave you’d had since college.

Music spills from the speaker on the counter as you work side by side.

 

*********

 

“Fuck, I forgot napkins.”

You leap up from the couch, stumbling briefly on the blanket draped over your laps. It would have dislodged his computer from his knees had he not lifted it in anticipation of your move.

“I’m taking your water chestnuts,” he calls after you.

“Ugh, please do.”

He chuckles, stabbing at your plate with his fork.

You’re on your way back when he speaks again, eyes fixed firmly on his screen.

“Holy shit.”

“What’s up?” you ask, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss his temple.

He slides a hand over his mouth, but doesn’t respond.

“Hey, you okay?” You sink down next to him and touch a tentative hand to his knee, almost afraid of startling him.

“It’s-…I got an email from Arin Hanson.” He finally looks at you, the hand still over his lips garbling his speech. “He offered me a job with Game Grumps in L.A.”

Never in your life had you felt so much simultaneous excitement and dread.

“(y/n), this-….holy shit,” he laughs, oncoming tears tightening his voice.

“Danny, oh my god…” you choke.

You’re so happy for him. You really, truly are, and your heart swells with that happiness. But your stomach is somewhere around your feet.

He rakes both hands through his hair and exhales, hard.

“Fuckin’-...okay, what do I do? What do we do?”

“Well…that’s up to you,” you mumble, hardly recognizing what you actually mean in doing so.

He dismisses this with a shake of his head, and you find yourself nearly unable to meet his eyes as he reaches for both your hands.

“Uh-uh, we’re a team. This is a team decision. If we decide not to go, we won’t go.”

“You can’t pass this up.” Your voice strains against a constricting throat as your reluctant gaze flicks from his face to his laptop and back again. “I don’t want you to pass this up.”

“I mean…” Warm eyes, genuine in their confusion, study you from beneath a furrowed brow. “…I’m not going without you. Is that-...wait, that’s not what you’re suggesting, is it?”

Tears spring to your eyes, and you’re only dimly, on some well-buried level of your consciousness, aware of what you’re about to do.

“But the kids thing….we can’t pack up and move across the country with it hanging over us.”

Then suddenly-

“ _Fine_ ,” he sighs, with a sag of his shoulders. “Okay, yes. We’ll have kids, alright?”

It’s in that moment that it all becomes so dreadfully clear to you.

“…This isn’t going to work, is it?” This comes out in a tight whisper.

“I _literally_ just said I’d have kids with you.” There’s more than a touch of exasperation at the edges of his voice.

“That’s not what you want, though.”

“If that’s what it takes to stay with you, I’ll do it.”

“We can’t-…Danny…” you struggle to speak through teeth that suddenly seem too big for your papery mouth, “…Oh god…I think we need to end this.”

His eyes bug cartoonishly.

“ _WHOA! Hold the fuck on!”_ He shoves the laptop onto the small coffee table.

“I don’t know what else to do?” Your sentence raises in pitch at the end, both a question and a tearful plea for a miracle.

“We’ll get a new counselor!”

“We’re on number three...”

“ _Fuck_ , we’ll start over in L.A.!”

“The problem will just foll-.”

“We can have as many kids as you want!”

“Danny…” With a slight drooping of your eyelids, you feel yourself begin to disassociate, just a little. In that distance from yourself, you’re rewarded with a remarkably level-headed clarity about what you have to do – a small gift from your brain to make the most brutal moment of your life just a tiny bit more bearable. “We need to end it.”

 “ _No_.” He seizes your hands and grips them tightly in his. “No, we can fix this.”

“Dan…”

“What if we-“

“ _Leigh.”_

The agitated rambling halts abruptly, only to be replaced by a harsh hyperventilation.

“Jesus christ, (y/n), please don’t fucking do this.” His voice cracks as shock wears off and he begins to cry.

You start to cry in earnest then too, fully present again and painfully aware of the reality of what you’d just done.

He takes your damp and surely horribly twisted face in trembling hands.

“I love you so much, please, _please_ , don’t do this, fuck, _oh god_ -....“

“I love you, Danny,” you croak, slipping from his gentle hold and fighting back the bile rising in your throat, “but you know this is what we need to do.”

“This isn’t happening…” He shoves his hands into his hair and pulls, rocking forward and jamming his elbows into his knees with a wet, strangled cry. “Oh my fucking god, this _isn’tFUCKinghappening._ ”

You slump back into the couch, suddenly boneless in your grief.

You’d just given your life an enormous and unplanned overhaul, and the only thing you can even comprehend in that moment is crying. So you continue to do just that, allowing wretched sobs, muffled by the hands clamped over your mouth, to tear at your lungs.

Then he pulls your hands away and kisses you. Shows you how much he loves you. It’s all panic and desperation as he buries both hands in your hair. You kiss him back, the salt of his tears mingling with yours on your tongue.

You almost cave. You almost take it all back and beg for his forgiveness. But you don’t.

Instead you give in to your own despair and desperation, frantically tearing at his shirt to get his quaking body closer to you.

               

Following some _extremely_ ill-advised, tear-filled, and terribly depressing sex, the two of you lie naked on the couch together, holding each other close and crying long into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you're having a better day than these two crazy kids did!


	12. A Proposal

 

*2017*

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

You’d tried to cool off. You really had.

You’d belly-breathed as you drove home. You’d walked in the door and immediately torn off your clothing because it all smelled like him and, you’d realized with a sharp cry, you’d somehow managed to wear his favorite color. You’d treated yourself to a long, hot shower -- the water from which had awoken the sting of the stubble burn on your chest and neck -- an especially comfy pair of PJs, and a glass of wine. All three together had helped quell your fury and your fear a bit, but that unfortunately had allowed for the arousal humming underneath it all to peep through.

You’d tossed and turned in bed for a good two hours, alternating rapidly between fuming, crying, and resisting the nagging urge to slip a hand under the covers, unable to shield your wired brain from vivid snapshots of that evening. The heat of his breath on your skin. The steady rhythm of his fingers between your legs. The pained look on his face as you’d held it in your hands and told him what you’d been so diligently and pointedly burying deep for the past five years.

Your efforts to chill the fuck out had been fruitless, and now it’s just after midnight and you’re standing in your pajamas in a hotel hallway, seething, pounding on the door of room 306.

*BANG! BANG! BANG!*

The door swings open.

His face crumples immediately.

In the brief moment before he throws his arms around you, you’re struck by two things: that he’s wearing the red flannel you’d always loved so much, and that for the first time in his adult life you think he actually looks his age. Even in the low light of the entry, you see that every one of his 38 years are etched into his exhausted features, and it’s clear that he’d been crying. You’re momentarily disarmed by it so you don’t yell, but you don’t hug him back either.

“I’m so fuckin’ glad you’re alright,” he mutters into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

When your only response is a distinct stiffening in your body, he eases back a little to meet your gaze.

All you can do is glare.

“You-…you look mad. You’re mad. Okay, yeah.” He lets his arms drop and steps back, raking a hand through his hair with a heavy exhale that puffs his cheeks. “I know. I _know._ Fuck. I’m sorry. I really fucked up.”

Your voice is shrill as you clench your fists.

“You dragged my _MOM_ into this?!”

“Not on purpose, I swear to christ,” he sighs, further retreating so you can storm into the humble, cozily-lit room. “But she cornered me as I left the supply closet…said she had just seen you looking really upset and saw that I was upset and-…” He cringes. “I guess she just put two and two together and started asking questions.”

“Jesus, what did she ask?! _What did you say_? Did you-…” You trail off and let out a slightly embarrassed huff.

“Did _III_ …” His eyebrows then peak in realization. “No, I did _not_ tell your mom I’d just fingerblasted her daughter in a closet at her place of work.”

You close your eyes, flat-out ignoring the quick tingle that ascends your spine.

“You’re right…I’m sorry…”

“Did I tell her I’m in love with her daughter? Yeah, I may have let that one slip.”

“Oh, you _didn’t_ ,” you moan, slapping your palms over your face as you sit heavily on the unmade king bed. “You _way_ overstepped your bounds, Dan...”

“Fuck…I know I did. I wasn’t thinking. It just kind of-…came spilling out. Um…if it helps-…” He hesitates.

“ _What?”_ you grumble into your hands.

“…She said she already knew.”

You slump, curling into yourself with a small cry.

“That doesn’t help at all! What the fuck, that does that opposite of help!”

His words only reinforce your feelings that too many people are trying to pull the strings in your life, even more so when you quickly recall just how many times your mom had attempted to convince you to talk to your former fiancée.

“I’m sorry, I thought-…” His voice drifts away to nothing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything, Jesus...”

A long stretch of silence follows, and you can’t hear much beyond the hollow sound of your breath circulating in your palms as you try to piece together an effective sentence.

“I’d been doing just fine until yesterday.” There’s a definite sharpness to your tone, cutting through your low volume. “I was fucking content. I was fucking happy, not thinking about you. Not knowing how you felt. Now everything just-…”

“I know,” he whispers.

“Danny, you can’t just, like-…” Your voice drops to a whisper too, as if even you’re afraid of what you’re about to say as you peer at him through cracks between your fingers. “You can’t just bulldoze your way back into my life.”

A look of surprise passes over him, followed quickly by one of wounded shame.

“I know,” he mumbles again, crossing his arms over his torso.

“Do you?” you ask, pulling your hands down. “Because that feels an awful lot like what’s happening. Dinner? The texts? That closet stunt?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fuck, _please_ believe me when I say I did _not_ go in there meaning for that to happen. I’m so sorry, and I swear to god, that was not my intent. I was just looking for a private place to meditate before the show, but then I saw you there and-…” He sets his mouth off to the side and lifts his arms in a defeated gesture.

“And what, you just couldn’t help yourself?” you snap. “You were physically incapable of just turning the fuck around and leaving?”

He frowns deeply.

“I don’t-…I don’t know what to say to that…”

That’s when the complete and consuming exhaustion hits. The anger and grief you’d felt for the past 24 hours drain away as you release a sigh so long and weary that you feel your body simply deflate with it.  

Utterly wiped out, you lift your knees to your chest and press your forehead onto them, wrapping your arms around your shins.

“That’s not fair, Dan. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you,” you whisper. “It wasn’t just you. I wanted it too.” You’d known it was over from the moment he’d opened the closet door.

The mattress dips as he sits next to you with a couple muted cracks of his knees.

“You know, I actually picked up on that?” His tone is light and teasing, and you turn your head to scowl at him briefly, but he smiles, and you find yourself smiling a little too. “Did you know your mom told me I put on a terrible show tonight?”

A hoarse laugh escapes you.

“She did not.”

“She did. She’s nothing if not honest. I mean, did you see that shit?”

You shake your head.

“Jesus, of course you didn’t. That was a stupid question.” He pushes a hand into his hair and clamps down onto a fistful. “…It wasn’t easy to play rock star tonight.”

“I’m going to go ahead and say that was pretty much your own fucking fault,” you quip gently.

“Oh, I take full responsibility,” he chuckles, then falls quiet for a bit, rubbing his palms slowly on his thighs. “Hey, (y/n)?”

A streak of anxiety pings through your gut at his sudden nervousness.

“Yeah.”

He flexes and unflexes his fingers.

“…You told me you loved me tonight.”

And there it was.

“Sweetheart, did-…did you mean it? I mean, fuck-...” Now both hands cover his face, muffling his words. “…If it was just something you just said in, like, the fuckin’ afterglow, please just tell me and I swear to god, I’ll never bring it up again, but-...did you? Mean it?” His voice raises in pitch as his throat constricts. “I can take it, I promise,” he adds.

It would have made things so much simpler if you were to lie right then. It wouldn’t have been easy to look at his sweet face and do so, but you could do it - hell, you’d been lying to yourself about this exact thing for years. If you were to tell him no, both your heart and his would break but then…then you would both just move on and continue to live your separate lives, pretending you didn’t know what you knew.

But instead, you whisper, “Yes.”

There’s a ragged, wet intake of breath from behind his hands, and then they slip down a little to reveal glistening eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Really?” Quiet. Full of hope, vulnerability.

Your chest bursts with warmth, and your hand is a little shaky when it reaches for his.

“Really. I love you, Danny.”

 “I love you too, babygirl,” he says gently with a warm smile that seems to bloom out over his whole being, and he passes a thumb over your knuckles. There’s a beat of thoughtful silence before he adds, “Well, this certainly complicates things.”

Your laugh, mostly air, is quick and mirthless.

“So…what are we going to do about this?”

The question, nearly inaudible, creates a spike of fear inside your body.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” you squeak. “I don’t really know anything right now. You kind of turned my world upside down here, dude.”

“I know.” His lips quirk upwards before he brings your hand up to meet them. “I’m sorry.”

Your stomach flutters when a flash of either brilliance or incredible foolishness – or both -- lights up your brain, and you slide your fingers between his.

“Do we have to figure it out tonight?”

A hint of disappointment appears briefly on his face, but he says, “No, of course we don’t.”

“What if-…” You steel yourself before you can lose your nerve. “Can we talk about it first thing in the morning?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want. You wanna meet for breakfast or something?”

You fight both a sigh and a glimmer of uncertainty.

“No.”

“Then-“ He cuts himself off, eyes widening. “… _WAIT_ , are you talking about staying here tonight?!”

It goes unspoken, but there’s an intimate promise that hangs thick and heavy in the question. You know it and he knows it.

You nod, gnawing your lower lip just a touch too hard as a completely irrational trickle of self-doubt seeps into your moment of brave stupidity.

“Um, I was thinking about it…”

His fingers tighten among yours.

“Holy shit, are you fuckin’ serious?” This comes out loud and fast. “You’re not fucking with me.”

You cast your eyes downwards, feeling a slight heat in your cheeks.

“Unless, you know-…like, if you don’t want me to-…”

A punctuated, incredulous laugh bursts from him.

“Christ, babygirl, I’ve been-…hey…” A gentle hand cups your chin and turns you to face him. His eyes are warm and reassuring pools of sincerity. “I would be _so_ fuckin’ honored, oh my god. Are you sure this is what you want, though?” He asks, his brow knit. “I can’t be positive, but five minutes ago I think you were a heartbeat away from ripping my head off and throwing it out the window into oncoming traffic.”

“Okay, I might have been.” You smile, resting your forehead against his. “But I like your head, and I assure you, this was brewing underneath all that rage. It’s been brewing there all night, actually, no thanks to you.”

“Yeah, my bad,” he chuckles. Then his gaze flicks down to your mouth and he brushes his thumb over your lower lip, sending sparks shooting through you. “Do you think this would trigger another attack?”

“No. That was a culmination of so many things all, like, fucking _exploding_ to the surface at once. I’ve just, like-…” You heave a sigh, allowing your eyes to fall shut. “I’ve been stuck in my brain all day. And all last night.” You shake your head, opening them again to study his. “I don’t want that tonight, Danny. I want out.”

A smirk twitches his mouth.

“I offer my services to help you with that.” When he presses a kiss to your brow, you lean into it, sliding your arms around his neck. “Let’s see if we can get you outta there together, huh?” he murmurs against your skin.

“Worth a try,” you breathe, and with that, he tilts your face upwards and kisses you.

Slow and soft and deep.

With a grunt he pulls you onto his lap. You straddle his thighs, your body flush with his, and moan a bit when you feel the unmistakable evidence of his growing desire beneath you.

He nips your lip before pulling back.

“Any doubts, sweetheart?” he whispers unsteadily, hands traveling over the swell of your hips and up to your waist, over your hoodie.

 “Of course,” you reply automatically, before your brain has time to catch up.

Without hesitation he presents his palms in supplication and leans back, eyes rounded, hair still swaying even though he’s completely motionless.

 “No, I mean-…I want this. Fuck, I really do,” you say imploringly, resting your weight back on his thighs. “I just-…I know it’s going to make everything that much harder.” Before he can even glance down you add, “I swear to god, if you make a dick joke right now I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

“Dammit.” A short giggle. “Alright, the way I look at it…” He moves your hair over your shoulder and kisses your neck, once. Your eyelids flutter in response as goosebumps pop up along your shoulders. “…Yes, it would further complicate things. _Even_ _further_ complicate them, rather. However!” -- his eyebrows shoot up -- “…I’m pretty sure I ruined any chance of simplicity way back when I kissed you last night and got this whole fuckin’ messy ball rolling, _soooo_ …” Grimace. “…I’m sorry about that.”

“I think I’m glad you did,” you whisper, toying with the ends of the curls that rest along his shoulders.

He places his fingers under your chin and presses his lips to yours, quick and sweet.

“I think I am too.” He searches your eyes. “But this is totally your call, beautiful. Just know that I’m going to feel the same way about you, regardless of your decision,” he continues, taking your face gently in his hands. “If you say yes, though…if we try this and it doesn’t work and you decide you need to tap out...promise me you will, okay? I could just cuddle the everloving shit out of you all night instead.”

You grin.

“I promise, Danny…but I _really_ don’t foresee that happening.”

He grins too.

“You for real want to do this?”

“I super fucking want to do this.”

His darkened gaze passes over your face, still cupped delicately in his hold, and suddenly the light moment is gone. Your breath catches in your throat as he slides one hand into your hair, along the side of your neck, and ghosts his thumb over your ear.

With a small whimper you press yourself into him, suddenly needing his body to be as close to yours as possible while you plant kisses up his neck, feeling his pulse flutter wildly under your lips.

He apparently feels the same, because his grip then slips down to your ass and pulls your lower body solidly against his.

“God, this is a terrible idea,” you hum against his temple, even as you -- somewhat subconsciously -- rotate your hips over him.

“Oh, most definitely.” He shudders, breath hitching, and he stills your hips in a firm grasp. “We shook on that last night, right?” A laugh colors his voice as his thumbs sneak under the hem of your sweatshirt and glide over the heated skin underneath. “But if I have the chance to be with you again-“ (you quickly lean back, mouth opening to protest) “- _EVEN_ …if it’s only for this one night...” (your mouth snaps shut) “…I’d be a fuckin’ idiot not to jump at it. Let’s just fuckin’-…steer into the skid, y’know? Pretend that things aren’t complicated. Forget everything else.”

“I want that, Danny,” you murmur, threading your fingers into his curls. “Please. That’s what I want.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, grazing your cheekbone with the heel of his hand. His eyes are soft and calm and sure.

“Then let me be in love with you tonight.” There’s a plea in the low richness of his voice, and the sound of it makes you shiver despite the heat blooming inside you. “Stay here with me, babygirl.”

Now how could you turn down a proposal like that?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a short chapter! I could have easily brought in content from the next chapter (*cough, cough* hooooooo boy, brace yourselves for that one), but I felt like this chapter ended where it needed to.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! You guys are the best!


	13. A Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, finally! I have worked so hard and for so long on this chapter, struggling to get the tone right. Struggling, especially, to find the right balance of sweetness/sexiness/anxiety/intimacy/love. I've been constantly tweaking it, changing things every single time I read through it even if I'd deemed it "done" the last time I'd looked. I'm just going to keep doing the same thing, I think, so I need to just...fucking let it go...put it out there into the world (and tweak more stuff the next time I read through it :-P). So here goes!
> 
> I super hope you enjoy it! You guys have been so supportive and amazing!
> 
> Also, again - Dan Avidan is a real person with real feelings and he does not belong to me. The Dan in this fictional story is a fictional being.

 

*2017, still*

Five minutes later you’re a goddamn hot mess, head hanging back limply and sweating behind the knees as you rock your hips against Dan.

Your hoodie lies abandoned somewhere on the floor near his shirt, which was the only thing you’d managed to get off of him before he’d reduced you to this breathless and comically desperate state. Pajama pants, tugged inside-out, dangle perilously off of one ankle as you straddle his lap on the edge of the bed. Your tank top pools around your middle, but you’re still wearing your socks and underwear.

He hums against your skin while his lips travel your neck and shoulders, adding to the stubble burn already at home there. A large, warm hand on your lower back encourages your movements, and you groan and clutch at his bare shoulders as another kneads your breast.

His cock twitches under you in response.

When you right yourself, grab two fistfuls of his hair, and drag him up to you, he moans into your mouth and further stiffens in his jeans.

It’s all too much. The sound of him and the feel of him and the taste of him and _god_ -

The steady grind of your hips is interrupted by your fingers flying to his belt. You flick it open in just a heartbeat, and you’re already working his zipper down when he gently stills your hands with his.

“Babygirl _,_ hold on _, hold on_ -“ he pleads, breaking away from your mouth with his chest heaving.

You drop your hold on his jeans with a tiny whine that’s both indignant and involuntary, the ache between your thighs begging for relief.

He kisses you swiftly with swollen lips before apologetic eyes lock on yours.

“Can we please just, like, take this slow?”

“You mean, not do this tonight?” Your body slumps, and he laughs out loud at what must have been a horrified expression on your face.

“No, we’re fuckin’ doing this,” he chuckles and squeezes your hips. “Can we just…slow it down? I mean, we got to do fast and frantic earlier and holy shit, that was-…like, fuckin’ _amazingly_ hot, but-…” With a sigh, he leans his forehead against yours. “I dunno. I can’t believe you’re actually here with me right now. And if this is potentially my one night with you, I want to make the fuckin’ most of it. To really make you feel amazing.” Delicate fingertips sweep up your back. “Is that alright with you, beautiful?”

Your heart is warmed by his words, but you still can’t help the incredibly bratty pout on your lips or the sentence that leave them as the rest of your body continues to cool down rapidly.

“That was mean.”

“I know,” he says with a rueful smile. “I’m so sorry. Call it unintentional edging?”

“Dick move.”

His smile changes into something darker, hungry, deepened with longing, and there’s a flutter of excitement in your chest at the abrupt shift. His hands slip down to your thighs and he gives them a squeeze too, grazing your neck with a kiss. “Just lay back and relax, babygirl,” he purrs against the sensitive flesh. “You know I’ll get you there.” This is said without a hint of arrogance, only the easy confidence of a man who knew he was good at what he did.

“You’re gonna have to start from zero,” you grumble, leaning away from him just a tad, unwilling to admit that just one look, a small kiss, and the handful of words had put you back up at, like, a 4 out of 10.

He grins.

“I eagerly accept your challenge.”

“Fine,” you huff. “Just-… _FUCK_.”

Without warning you’re flipped onto your back, and your yelp of surprise melts into a moan as he rolls his hips hard against you.

His breath is hot on your lips when he speaks.

“I intend to.”

 

And does he ever.

But first, he savors the process of removing the rest of your clothing. Delighting in the sound you make when he kisses you _right here_. Relishing the way you squirm and grip at his curls when he touches you _like this_.

Loving eyes, loving lips, and loving hands explore every bit of your flushed skin as it’s revealed, as if he’s re-committing each detail of you to memory.

You don’t have the opportunity to stress over your lack of grooming or about the way your body had changed after pregnancy, because by the time he eases your already ruined panties down your legs, kissing along the inside of your thigh as he does so, you’ve long since lost yourself in his touch. In his constant whispered praise.

He cups your calf in his palm and presses his lips to your ankle one last time before starting his slow journey back up your trembling leg. But he stops midway to place a lingering kiss on the inside of your knee, gently nudging your thighs open a little wider for him, and then he just looks.

Stares.

Resting a rough cheek against your knee, he sweeps warm eyes over your prone body, and you don’t feel an iota of shame. Instead, you feel safe and sexy and so very loved under his gaze.

“You are so fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart, Jesus,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with wanting. You know he means it, and although your whole being burns in anticipation and you’re trying to remember how to breathe, you do manage a smile before he ascends your thigh at a frustrating pace.

He flattens himself on the bed in front of you, so close to where you need him to be but not nearly close enough. He draws your legs over his shoulders, and you squirm when a moan lightly breathed from him further warms your aching core.

“Fuck, you’re _soaked_ …” His awed tone is tinged with warmth as he tenderly glides the pad of his thumb up the length of your slick center, causing your hips to twitch.

“ _Danny_ ,” you plead, gripping the sheets beneath you.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, but you can feel his gaze on your face and hear intense adoration in his voice when he whispers softly to you one last time.

_“I missed you so much…”_

…and then he runs the flat of his tongue over you in one long, slow lick that dips between your folds just slightly.

“ _Fu-uuck_ …” you groan, clenching the fabric in your fists as you actively fight the urge to jerk up into him.

 

He’s talented. There’s no denying it.

Dan is good at so many things, but in this arena he’s a force to be reckoned with.

A strategic swirl of his tongue here. A gentle nibble there.

A steady pulse of fingers. A rumble of appreciation in his throat.

He could have easily gotten you off in well under five minutes on this night, with you already as far gone as you were.

But as he’d always liked to do with you, he instead takes his sweet fucking time. Teasing you. Drawing out your pleasure. Backing off when he sensed you were about to break. Settling back into a completely unhurried rhythm before picking up again, inching you closer to the edge of that cliff with his lips and his tongue and his hand, but never quite letting you reach it.

 _“I’m in it for the cross country, babygirl,”_ he used to joke with a smirk whenever you’d express concern for his poor jaw and neck back in the day, _“not the sprints.”_

You can’t even be mad, though, because what he _was_ allowing was so fucking good, and as he’d said earlier – you know he’ll get you there.

And holy _god_ , will it ever be worth it when he does.

So you just enjoy the ride, brazenly splay-legged and tangling your fingers in his hair to hold it out of his way. Resisting the instinctive internal pull to drag him closer and rock against his face, because you know that doing so would only make him slow down again.

You’re rewarded for your patience when he snakes a securing arm up around your thigh before crooking the fingers inside of you, just barely grazing your front wall with his fingertips. A squeal claws at your throat and you give a violent shudder, throwing your head back.

And then you’re moments from release again, your body thrumming like a bowstring pulled taut.

Your hands slide obediently from his head when his mouth suddenly lifts up and away from you, but he continues his slow assault with his fingers, ghosting over your g spot with an effortless precision and holding you right there at the edge.

“Do you think about me, babygirl?”

The words barely reach your ears over your loud huffing, and you certainly can’t process them in your state.

“Look at me. Please.”

A gentle nip of teeth on the tender flesh of your inner, upper thigh cuts right through to you, and you fight to open your eyes.

The noise that escapes you when you see him is high and needy.

Framed exquisitely by your thighs, he looks a little frayed around the edges. Wild curls tumble over each other, some upright in a thick lion’s mane, others loose against his forehead. The bottom half of his reddened face glistens in the low light, and in his eyes burns an intoxicating marriage of vulnerability and desire.

“I think about you. All the time,” he confesses, the grit in his voice a stark contrast to the tenderness with which he presses a kiss into the crook of your hip. “I think about how your warm little pussy felt squeezing around my cock – and you’re still _so_ fuckin’ warm and tight, babygirl, _christ_ , I can’t wait to fuck you…”

A short growl bubbles way back in your throat and you clench around his fingers, but manage to keep your eyes trained on him as you breathe quite hard and tear at the pillow under your head.

“I think about this more, though. I think about how responsive and sensitive you were. About how much I loved the noises you’d make when- yeah, _just like that_ , beautiful – when I’d do this to you...I’d get so fucking hard thinking about you moaning my name…" A kiss on your other hip, his eyes never leaving yours. "...About watching you shake and whimper and just fall the fuck apart, knowing I was the one making it hap-… _not_ _yet_ , sweetheart, stay with me just a little longer…”

You don’t even realize that as his words washed over you your head had lolled back, your eyes had rolled back into your skull, and you’d been fucking yourself on his fingers, until a firm hand on your abdomen halts your movements. The unexpected pressure on your lower belly makes you shiver and cry out, but you force your head up and your eyes open with great difficulty.

Gone is the vulnerability from his eyes, leaving only a hunger that sears you from the outside in as you struggle to hold on for him.

“Do you think about me?” he repeats.

Your answer is immediate and mindless.

“ _Yes_.”

His breath hitches and he ruts against the bed, just once. You’re nearly undone by the sight of it.

“Tell me,” he commands in a strained voice, locking eyes with you as he lowers his head again, his hair tickling your skin on the way down.

Without a second thought, and in a keening, strangled tone you barely recognize, you launch right into a ridiculous, garbled mess straight out of your id just in time to feel the broad stroke of his tongue.

“Mmmmg _od_ Danny your hands y-…your cock- _haa-_ missed your face _fuck_ \- _ohh_ -“

A slight increase in contact from the fingertips inside you.

“ _-hhnn_ your mouth- _fuck_!-   _god-_ _fuck_ your mou-…missed you Dan- _AH!_ -“

He sucks your clit back into the wet heat of that mouth, and then your hands are in his hair again, twisting into the coarse curls as your thighs begin to quake beside his head.

“-came so ha-… _fuck_ , love y-…Danny god, _please_ -“

A yank of those curls pulls from him a moan that vibrates against you, through you, and you writhe.

_“-god-…fuck I-…I’m gon-…hhnn-“_

The hand holding you down splays out, anchoring you to the bed.

For a few breathless moments, the earth around you is still and quiet. Your body goes rigid, but within it your synapses fire like crazy and your blood hammers through your veins. There is nothing in your world then but his mouth and his fingers and the deliciously filthy sounds of them working together to make you come completely unglued.

And then, with a choked wail, your thighs snap shut on him and you plunge headlong over the cliff. Heat radiates from your center in shuddering waves, reaching the top of your head and the tips of your toes. Your body rocks as your rolling hips desperately fight his hold on them.

He rides it out with you, not letting up until the last possible second before it becomes too much.

When he does finally pull back, your legs drop, bouncing uselessly against the bed, and you pool onto the mattress, boneless and panting hard.

A fog settles over your brain, and it’s so unlike the one that descends during your attacks. This one is golden and glowing and warm and you want to live in there forever. Through the fog, you’re distantly aware of Dan wiping his mouth on his arm and then pressing his lips to one thigh, the other thigh, and your belly before he crawls up your still shivering body.

“Holy shit, babygirl,” he mumbles, the ends of his hair brushing your cheek as he kisses slowly along your jaw. “That was fuckin’ incredible, oh my _god_ …”

You respond with an airy hum and pull his face to yours so you can kiss him deeply. The taste of you lingers on his tongue.

“Thank you for that, Danny,” you whisper, cradling his head in your hands. “Sorry I smooshed you.”

He giggles that giggle you love so much and slides a hand over the swell of your hip, stroking your skin with his thumb.

“If there was ever a great reason for a smooshing…” He grins and kisses your forehead as you drape your arms loosely around his neck. “For real, you’ve given me spank bank material to last a lifetime.” He pauses a moment. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I think about you.”                                                                

You shake your head with a lazy smile.

“I wasn’t either.”

He blinks stupidly.

“That’s… _unbelievably_ fuckin’ hot. Jesus.”

With a mischievous, questioning noise in your throat, you reach between your bodies and find that not only is he now rock hard, but the head of his cock is peeking out over the waistband of his underwear and there’s a smear of precum on his stomach. With your eyes on his, you snake the hand into his open jeans, palm him through his boxers, and swipe your thumb over the exposed head. This earns you an eyelid flutter and a breathy groan.

“Yeah, it’s- _fuck._ Yeah...” he falters. “That’s what you do to me, gorgeous.”

You grin.

“Well then, why don’t we take care of it?”

“ _Believe_ me, (y/n), I would love nothing more right now than to fuck you senseless, I just-“ He nuzzles your nose with his and speaks softly. “…I want to make sure you know we don’t have to do this. Shit, I already feel like I’m on top of the fuckin’ world. Seriously, I can’t even describe to you what a fuckin’ privilege it was to make you feel like that again. To do that and know you’re enjoying yourself as much as I am, y’know? If it’s too much too soo-“

You cut him off with a kiss, then look him dead in the eye.

“I need you to fuck me, Danny.”

You watch his pupils dilate.

“I can do that.”

The speed and force with which he springs up off the bed leaves you bouncing on the mattress. When his open pants drop right down to his ankles and he stumbles over them as he runs, your heart simply explodes with love. For a moment you feel very much like crying.

A minute later he’s unearthed condoms and lube from his travel bag, and you crawl on wobbly knees to the end of the bed. When he notices you watching him, he grins over his shoulder and gives you a little hip wiggle. You chuckle, but it doesn’t last long because your mouth goes dry as he pushes his boxer briefs down to his knees and kicks them off.

Even in the shadows, you can make out the size of him.

A ribbon of anxiety wriggles in your belly, but you dismiss it the best you can. You’ve had this man inside you a thousand times, you remind yourself as he unrolls the latex over himself and drizzles some lube into his open palm.

The anxiety is replaced by a bit of fire when his breath catches as he runs his fist over his length.

The flames are stoked when he steps back into the light and stands naked in front of you, so slim and tall and golden, striking in the warm glow of the lamp. The glow burns in his wild hair, a fiery halo around his perfect face, but the warmth in his eyes as they look down at you is all his own.

As many times as you’d pictured him just like this in recent years, you realize now that the images in your brain had never really done him justice. He really is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

The urge to cry returns, and you blink rapidly as an ache rises in your chest.

“Danny,” you whisper through a tightening throat, “Jesus. You’re-…”

He seems to understand, because the smile he gives you then, as he sets the little bottle of lube on the nightstand, is a touch bashful. He bends down, tucks a bent knuckle under your chin, and kisses you gently.

But when he sets a knee on the bed, grabs your waist, and slides your body up the mattress, he doesn’t seem all that bashful anymore.

He eases you back into the pillows, planting a hand by your head. The familiar weight and warmth of his naked body on yours is simultaneously comforting and exhilarating, and when you drag your fingers up his sides, you feel goosebumps on his skin.

“Holy shit, this is really going to happen isn’t it?” he muses softly, gazing down into your face as he wraps a gentle hand around the outside of your thigh.

With that, the sheer absurdity and enormity of what you two are doing -- of what you’ve done -- clubs you over the head, and before you can stop yourself, you’re giggling uncontrollably.

“I know, right?” you squeak, between titters. “What the actual fuck?”

Danny gives you a grin and sweeps your hair back from your forehead.

“It’s not too late to turn back, y’know…”

The giggle in your throat cuts right off, as though someone had pressed the mute button on a TV remote.          

“Fuck no.”

 _‘The damage has already been done anyway,’_ you think.

“Oh, thank christ, I want you _sofuckingbad_ -” he says on an exhale before kissing you, hard.

You moan into his mouth as his tongue sweeps over yours and the fire in your belly reignites with a vengeance, flames threatening to burn you through, but he pulls back quickly.

“Yes?” he asks, his voice strained.

“ _Yes_.”

He raises himself and hastily shoves the wadded up blanket under your hips to elevate them. But when he then reaches down between the two of you, your body -- to your great dismay -- stiffens.

His gaze immediately snaps up from what he’s doing, but there’s nothing but love and concern in his eyes when they meet yours.

“Fuck…reflex, I’m sorry,” you mutter, sheepish, as a flush of guilt creeps into your consciousness. “It’s been a little while, and you’re, like-…y’know…”

_‘THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS YOU RUIN EVERYTHING GOOD fuck you fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufu-‘_

He shakes his head, silencing your toxic thoughts with a delicate palm cupping your jaw.

“Hey. I know what you’re thinking, and please don’t. You have nothing to apologize for,” he says gently, kindness saturating his tone as he brushes your forehead with his. “And if you still want this…I’ll go slow, babygirl. I promise.”

You reach up to caress his cheek, running your thumb over the prickly stubble.

“I know, Danny. I trust you.” Somehow, just saying those words, just hearing that truth spoken aloud, has a calming effect on you. “I still want this.”

He turns to kiss your palm, then your lips. And then he gives you a smile so genuine and beautiful that it kind of breaks your heart, before he shifts onto his side and slips a hand down your abdomen, knowing exactly what you need from him.

With your arm locked around his shoulders and his face hovering closely over yours, he works you back up with his fingers plunging into your throbbing core and his thumb rolling over your clit, all the while murmuring to you that he loves you, that you’re driving him fuckin’ crazy, that you look so beautiful laid out for him like this. And you believe it – you don’t think he’s even aware of the way his hips just barely grind his arousal against your thigh.

It’s not long at all before your cheeks are burning and the evidence of your reawakened need is pooling between your legs, dribbling down onto the bedding.

“Danny…please…”

He nuzzles your neck.

“Do you want me to fuck you, gorgeous?” The question is low and a little rough in its demand.

A great * _throb!*_ between your legs makes your response a moan:

“ _Yes…”_ You make a conscious effort to even further relax your body as he pulls himself over it, resting his weight on his elbow.

The ravenous spark in his eyes when he stares down at you nearly does you in, and you find yourself unsuccessfully stifling a groan when your inner muscles grasp around nothing.

He entwines his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips before gently pressing it to the pillow next to your head. A thrill runs through you, tingling along your spine, and you hitch a leg up on his hip.

His eyes flash.

“Are you sure?” He teases your wet folds with the head of his cock, and although nerves still flutter distantly somewhere in your awareness, your aching, almost painfully swollen center begs for him.

“ _Hahh_ , fuck _._ Yes _,_ Danny. God, _yes_ …”

_“I love you, babygirl…”_

And then, with a gentle hold on your hip, he begins to ease himself in.

Your gasp shakes in your throat and you grip his bicep.

“ _Oh,_ ” he breathes, brow knit as his head tilts forward and his eyes fall shut. “ _Christ_ , you feel fuckin’ amazing…” He gathers himself and pushes his forehead against yours again. “How you doin’, beautiful?”

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, digging your nails into his arm.

A needy noise forms in his throat, but true to his word he goes slow, giving you plenty of time to adjust to the stretch. You’re looking into his sweet, slack-jawed face and listening to him struggle to breathe evenly and oh, the temporary discomfort is _so_ worth it.

When he’s almost fully seated in you, he catches you in a kiss so heated and desperate that with a moan, you flower open further – and then to your surprise and his, he quickly and unintentionally slides home.

“ _Nng_! Fuck!” His face drops to your shoulder as he bottoms out. “God _fuck_ , you’re-…” he pants, breath hot on your flesh. “You alright, babygirl?”                                                                     

“Yeah, hold on,” you whisper tightly, placing a hand on his chest. He’s filling you completely. The feeling is one you haven’t experienced in a long time, and you give yourself a moment.    

He takes that time to pepper your neck and shoulders with slow, deliberate, _patient_ kisses. There’s such love in this action that you rather quickly liquefy beneath him, your muscles relaxing as heat curls in your belly.

“Okay.” You slip an arm over his back. “Now. Go.”

He kisses up your neck, down your jaw, to your lips, and then swallows the noise you make as he begins to move.

“Danny, oh my god…” you breathe when he slowly rolls his hips against you. You groan at the feeling of fullness and hitch your leg further up his hip. His hand snakes up the back of your thigh to hold you there.

“ _Fuck..._ ” he moans, eyes going half-lidded as his head tips back. “Jesus, beautiful, you’re fucking-….You’re fuckin’ perfect, _fuck_ …”

His praise rattles you with a shudder, and a flood of warmth blooms in your core.

Grazing his lips with yours in the ghost of a kiss, you lift your right leg to join your left, squeezing his waist. His breath catches when you start to move with him, working with him to find a rhythm.

When a large, warm hand splays out over your ribs and a careful thumb grazes your nipple, you practically purr and arch up into his touch, feeling his cock twitch inside you.

“You’re so fuckin’ incredible,” he whispers, brushing the thumb over your lower lip before dipping his head to kiss just below your ear. “ _Fuck_ , so responsive for me…”

The feel of his tongue on the skin of your neck makes your scalp prickle and you shiver, screwing your eyes shut.

“ _Fuck_ , Danny,” you whine, digging your heels into his thighs and grabbing his ass, urging him to fuck you harder.

He complies eagerly, a forceful thrust burying him in your tight heat.

Your head falls back with a cry, and he grunts in appreciative reply when your nails scrape against his skin.

You lock your ankles behind him and rock your hips to meet his thrusts, breathing his name between little keening moans as you cling to his back.

“Jesus, babygirl-...” he whispers tremulously, releasing a shaky exhale. “This- fuck- _God_ I _fuckin’loveyou_ …”

His words pry your eyes open. Your gaze finds his…

…and all at once the wind is knocked out of you.

A shock pings down your spine, crackling and electric, awakening what feels like every nerve ending in your body with a tingle and a flood of goosebumps.

Even the air around you _feels_ different – alive and more intentional or impressive, somehow.

His mouth is hanging open, lips plush and swollen. His eyes, with pupils so blown they cover nearly all of his irises, are rounded in astonishment.

 _“_ Oh _-h…?”_

He feels it too.

Stunned, he stares down at you, and his hips slow almost to a stop as you struggle against the very heavy, invisible weight bearing down on your lungs.

 _This is what you want_ , your heart screams as it batters your ribcage. The planets have aligned and your world is full of him and this is what you want _forever holy fuck you love him so much he is everything oh no-_

You blink against the tears suddenly pricking your eyes and reach a hand to his flushed face.

To your Danny’s face.

“I love you,” you choke.

With a quiet whimper, he grips your hip in a firm hold and picks up the pace again, driving into you harder than before. You gasp, burying one hand deep into the hair at the back of his head and scrabbling at his back with the other, as a steady stream of “ _oh god”_ s spill from your lips. He quickly wets two fingers in his mouth and slips them down to circle your clit.

Your shrill, staccato yelp pierces the air and your hips buck as you clench the hand in his curls, causing him to hiss a curse through his teeth and thrust faster still as his fingers maintain their frantic pace.

He pushes a forearm under your shoulders, gathering you closer to him. You curl inward, pressing your face into his neck.

“ _Danny god please fuck-_ “ you sob against his skin, trembling.

“Cum for me, babygirl,” he rasps with a full-body shiver.

You do, instantly, moaning and arching and pushing your head so far back into the pillow that the overstuffed sides are coming up around your burning cheeks. He kisses along the exposed column of your throat as you come undone, your release bringing him hurtling closer to his.

He squeezes your hip again with a short, throaty cry as his thrusts become sloppier and his breath leaves him in hard pants. A curtain of hair sweeps against your forehead.

While your body still quivers, you force your eyes open just in time to see his roll shut. Your shaking hands reach up and hold his hair out of his face.

“ _Fuck-…love you so- m-…fuck-…hanhh-_ “

He freezes for a moment, shoulders hunched, suspended in time with a furrowed brow, and you hold your breath, watching with a very full heart as his face contorts. Rocking forward in a final slow, jerking thrust, he cums with long and broken moan that warms you from your head to your feet.

And then with a soft groan he shifts his weight and practically collapses onto you, harsh breaths puffing against the sweaty skin of your neck. You unlock your jelly legs, allowing them to fall to the sides. Slithering your arms around his back, you squeeze him tightly, pressing your cheek against the top of his head as tears begin to seep from your eyes.

“Ohhh, my god,” he whispers, his back twitching with aftershocks.

“Oh my god…” Your voice is thin and tight, bobbing with the unwelcome hysterical laughter bubbling up inside your chest, even as tears roll back into your hair.

“That-…fuck-…” He’s not laughing with you.

“Oh my god…”

He brushes your neck with a kiss and you choke back an audible sob, feeling slightly insane.

When he raises himself on wobbly arms, you see his own tears and shocked expression.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he says quickly. “One sec, one sec…” He kisses your forehead and pulls out of your body with a shudder.

You know all he’s doing is ridding himself of the condom, but that doesn’t stop the desperate neediness from exploding inside you, your bewildered laughter dying on the spot as he raises himself to his knees.

He clearly doesn’t want to be apart from you right then either, because moments later, after tossing the tied-off condom into the trash can with a wet *splat!*, he’s pulling you to him and enveloping your shivering frame in his arms as you curl up on his still-heaving chest.

A solid five minutes of silence follow as you cling to each other, not afraid to speak, just…processing. Recovering. He presses kisses to the top of your head and along your hairline, both of your heavy breathing softening as intermittent tears dribble down your skin and onto his.

A short buzz from his phone on the nightstand seems to break the stillness, making you flinch.

“How you doin’, babygirl?” he murmurs, very inaccurately tracing your spine with wavering fingers.

You raise your head, meeting his red, watery gaze with yours.

“I’m-….kind of freaked out.” This comes out in a rusty creak, but at least your answer is honest. “Danny, what the fuck? You felt it, right?”

He brushes away the hair stuck to your damp forehead, the tender gesture only strengthening the tightness within your chest.

“You mean that fuckin’ super intense connection that makes it feels like our fuckin’ souls are joining?” Your inhale hitches and you nod, lips trembling. He kisses them. “Yeah, I’d say that’s definitely still there.”

“Shit.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“I guess we knew this wouldn’t make things any easier,” you concede, feeling utterly defeated as you slump onto his chest and tuck your head under his chin. “But I didn’t-…I didn’t anticipate it still being so strong.”

“Not after so many years apart,” he agrees, pulling your hand to his lips. “Whoops.”

You huff just a small laugh. It’s all your body will allow this time.

“Whoops.”

“Okay…(y/n), that feeling? Seriously, that’s only ever been with you,” he says softly against your knuckles, his tone betraying his own continued tears.  “I’ve never felt anything even remotely like it with anyone else. I mean, fuck, have you?”

Your shoulders shrug with a false breeziness as your face screws up.

“Nope…” That one word cracks as it leaves your mouth.

“Is this a conversation for Tomorrow Us?” he asks with a wet chuckle, running his fingers through your hair.

You nod eagerly, smearing your cheeks with your forearm as you roll onto your side to face him.

“Yes, please.”

“Should we just try to enjoy this night? Compartmentalize the best we can?” He sits up, thumbing away the moisture gathering in his eyes.

“ _God,_ yes, please.” A mild swell of soreness flares between your legs when you sit up too.        

“Sandwiches?”

“I’m sorry?”

The genuine giggle he produces then significantly eases the heavy feeling in your chest, replacing it with a lovely warmth that makes you breathe a loud sigh of relief through pursed lips.

“I didn’t really eat today, I’m realizing, and the food at this hotel is super good, so…” -- his eyebrows lift – “…sandwiches? I can call down and place an order.”

It hits you then that you hadn’t eaten a thing all day either.

“Okay, yeah. Yes. Sandwiches.” You plant a quick kiss on his lips, hastily and dutifully cramming the sad into just a tiny section of your brain - something with which you’d had your fair share of practice. And you suddenly feel a thousand times better having flipped that switch and slipped right into a pleasant denial. “I gotta pee first, though. Help me up. My legs are may do fuck-all to hold me right now…”

“I’m not even going to apologize for that,” he chuckles, standing to pull you to your feet. “Want me to go ahead and order?”

“Sure. You know what I like….Jesus. Apparently.”                            

His eyes follow your gesture to the numerous wet spots you’d left behind, and then he looks back up with the cockiest motherfucking grin you’d even seen.

“Are you pleased with yourself?” you ask, one eyebrow cocked.

“ _Immensely_.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Avidan.”

He cradles the back of your head and kisses you again, soft and deep, before nipping your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Way too late,” he whispers, eyes twinkling down at you.

With a delighted laugh you push him back and reach for the red flannel that lies on the floor in a crumpled heap. It’s worn and pilly, but it smells like him and is therefore inherently better than anything you’d worn there.

He smiles and says nothing as you pull it on. You pad unsteadily to the bathroom, feeling the warm weight of his eyes on you as you go.

Once inside, you lean against the counter for a moment to study your mussed hair, your red and rashy skin sprinkled with a love bite or three, and your tear-stained face.

 _‘Just enjoy tonight_ ,’ you command your reflection, exhaling slowly. _’You’re not Mama right now. You’re only (y/n) and you’re fucking in love with Danny tonight. Enjoy it.’_

When through the door you hear him order a banh mi with extra pickled veggies for you, the warmth in your chest blooms outward and you give yourself a genuine smile.

 _'Enjoy it.'_                       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAH! Thank you for reading this, admittedly, suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuper self-indulgent little bit of emotional smut. I'm not even going to pretend that there's not a lot of me in the anxious narrator and that this isn't total wish fulfillment. :-P
> 
> I'm such a huge fan of realism in fanfics, particularly in sex scenes (because, let's be real, sex is a breeding ground for awkward moments). A part of me wanted to really lean into that here and put in more awkward-- but completely realistic -- little bits (in addition to the anxiety roadblocks already present). I ultimately decided not to because again, this is scene total self-indulgent fantasy. And I'm justifying the lack of more realistic stuff by reminding myself that these two characters have been intimate with each other many, many times, and are very familiar with each other's bodies, likes and dislikes, etc.
> 
> ANYWAY. Thank you thank you thank you!


	14. 2012, Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last flashback, I swear! :-P 
> 
> We'll dive back into the meat (that's what she said?) of the story next week!

 

*2012*

The car is silent, save for the whoosh and groan of Amanda’s wiper blades and the roar of the rain battering her car.

“Do you really need to do this?” she asks quietly, after a long while.

“I do.” Your voice is calm and even. “I really do.”

“Across the country, though?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“But you know that if you just stayed here, you’d be way farther away from him, right?”

You frown, watching the raindrops bounce enthusiastically off of your window. You can barely make out the luggage-burdened people dashing for cover just beyond it.

“I know. But I made the plan long before I knew he was going through with the move to Cali,” you point out, hugging your carry-on to your torso.

 _‘And he’s fucking everywhere I look here,’_ you think, and a flash of a sharp burning sensation in your abdomen makes your breath hitch.

The airline-approved three ounce bottle of Maalox calls to you from your bag.

Amanda sighs.

“Not to make this about me or anything, but it just really fucking sucks to be losing both of you at the same time.”

A surge of grief rises in your chest, and you quickly swallow it back into numbness.

“I know. I’m sorry…”

“You sure you’re not just-…running away?” she suggests carefully, draping her forearms over the steering wheel and turning her head towards you.

You don’t dare return her gaze, knowing your eyes would betray the truth.

“No. I’m fine, dude,” you assure her. “It’s just time for a change. I’ve been in the same two states my whole life, and I need something new, you know? Now’s the time for it.”

She kindly doesn’t point out that you’d always been perfectly happy in those two states, and had never had any sort of desire to up and leave the comfort of the place you’d loved so much and known so well.

“I’m going to miss you.”

To her left, a passing shuttle splashes through a deep puddle, sending a wave crashing against the car.

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, impending tears burning behind your eyelids. “It’s something I need to do, though.”

She nods, and you reach out to hug her tightly.

“I’d better get inside. I assume security will be a fucking nightmare.” You blink back the sting in your eyes as you look at your friend’s frowning face. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Anytime,” she says. “Seriously, stay and I’ll drive you wherever you want to go whenever.”

Your laugh is genuine and she smiles.

“Tempting.” You slip on your backpack and pull your raincoat over your head.

“Let me know when you touch down?”

“Sure thing.” You push open your door, only to be greeted by a cacophony of airport sounds, muted by the persistent spatter of the rain. “Bye!”

She waves as you slam the door shut and book it for the overhang, yanking at your hood and clutching the waistband of your pants…which, over the past three weeks, had become too big for your body.

 

 **********

 

An hour and a half later, you plop into a seat at your concourse with a sigh of relief that momentarily drains you of the stress buzzing in your brain and in your body.

One hour until your flight boards.

You drop your backpack onto the ground between your knees with a soft _whump_ and dig into the top, producing your earbuds and your phone from its depths.

For the past few weeks, you’d only listened to artists you’d never heard before. You do the same thing now. It’s definitely because you’re ready to discover some new stuff, and definitely _not_ because your ex-fiancé and former best friend is so interwoven with the music in your life, so deeply ingrained into your psyche that a single note of a familiar song from any time after age 11 pulls him right to the forefront of your consciousness.

Distraction in the form of online games also eases the load on your mind, allowing you to zone out and click off the light illuminating the world around you.

You don’t know how much time passes before your neck aches from staring down at your lap.

With a small groan, you close your eyes and roll your head up and to the sides, reveling in the satisfaction of the pops and crackles encouraged by the action.

Your eyes drift open again and all at once your breath is knocked forcefully and painfully from your body.

Danny’s there.

He’s right fucking there. Receiving a drink at Starbucks, not 20 feet from where you’re sitting.

_‘Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god…’_

Your ulcer zaps a streak of agony into your gut.

He hasn’t seen you yet, but you’re in his periphery. Running now would only draw attention to yourself, so you slump further into your chair, fighting for air, and pray he doesn’t look your way to find you with a surprise cascade of tears streaming down your face.

_‘-nononononononono-“_

Though your brain is screaming, it still manages to observe and process what’s in front of you.

He’s lost weight.

So have you, but he’d had very little to spare in the first place. His oversized green jacket hangs loosely like it always has, but underneath it you see that his shirt droops on his thin frame.  From this angle, you can make out the deep purple crescent moons resting under his eyes. His lips sag into a frown after a halfhearted smile at the barista.

He turns and, to your utter dismay, fucking _immediately_ catches your gaze.

He stops in his tracks, eyes going big and round. They look extra large in the new hollowness of his face, a bit of soft among the prominent jut of his cheekbones and stubbly jaw. His skin, grayish and sickly, stretches over his bones.

You recognize the redness in his eyes. The stoney fog that hangs over them.

You want to smile a little at him, but your facial muscles won’t allow it. Instead, all they do is hang there uselessly under a wave of tears.

His shock seems to pass, because he then takes a tentative half step towards you.

_‘-NONONONONONONONONONONONONO-‘_

You shake your head frantically, hands suddenly trembling so hard you nearly drop your phone.

He stops, screwing up his face into a tortured grimace. Even from where you sit you can see his chest hitch, and with a barely perceptible nod comes a double trickle of tears down his face.

Eyes to the ground, he walks right past you.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fight back the sob that’s trying to break free.

Your phone buzzes, and your left hand, now naked without a ring, struggles to hold it steady enough to read the incoming text.

_~  Hi honey call me when you get into Seattle, I’ll be in the cell phone lot, can’t wait to see you. I put flannel sheets on the bed for you, ok love you bye – mom_

You gather yourself enough to reply.

_~  I love you, Mom. Thank you so much._

Another buzz as you’re shoving your phone into your pocket.

It’s a text from a number identified as unknown, but that’s not at all accurate. It’s a number which, although you’d deleted it, you’d never be able to scrub from your brain.

_~  I love you. I miss you so fucking much._

The strangled gasp that rips its way through your throat catches the attention of the few people nearby, and you quickly duck your head to hide the fresh batch of tears pouring from you as the pain in your stomach throbs angrily.

_‘-nononononononononononononononononononono-‘_

The Maalox in your bag is gone before your flight even begins to board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch. Fucking worst.
> 
> Also, in this universe, it's not a total dick move to sit and stall in your car at an airport drop-off. :-P
> 
> ETA (directly from a comments I'd made): I don't regret this chapter or anything, but it does feels kind of like an unnecessary bit of angst!porn. Like, the other flashbacks all served a purpose, plot-wise, and this is just like, "Hey, have some more sad, but with no purpose! Remember sad? Be sad!"
> 
> That said, I'd already written it months ago, and referenced this moment in a previous chapter, so meh. :-P


	15. A Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up right where chapter 13 (A Distraction) leaves off.
> 
> Get ready for some goddamn dialogue, Jesus christ. I tried to make this flow and halt like a realistic conversation, but it was definitely a struggle!

 

*2017*

When you leave the bathroom, you find Dan hunched over on the edge of the bed in his boxer briefs, his back shaking as he breathes harshly into his palm.

Your heart plummets right down to your feet.

Alarm bells clang and clatter in your brain.

 _‘Oh, we fucked up,’_ you think, stifling panic as you shuffle stiffly on petrified legs to his side and slide in next to him.

“Talk to me, Danny,” you plead gently, draping an arm across his lower back as you press a kiss to his temple.

He doesn’t, though.

Instead, without a word, he holds his phone out for you to see, and you realize with a full-body cringe that he’s laughing, not crying.

It’s a picture of Brian, his head on a pillow and his terrifying, frowny glare lit only by a hotel bedside lamp. He’s holding a torn piece of notebook paper with a big, blocky “6” scrawled on it.

The accompanying text: _Room for improvement. Suggestion: Louder_

You’re still blushing furiously when your order arrives.

 

To the constant backdrop of music from the small speaker in the room, the two of you devour the sandwiches and then talk, snuggle, kiss, laugh…simply enjoy each other’s company. Every once in a while you feel a twinge of fear, the sensation of sorrow melting loose inside of you, and you look at him only to see the same sadness just behind his eyes. But then he smiles and kisses your forehead and it all but disappears.

You make love once more that night, a couple hours later. It very quickly becomes inevitable, once he turns off the lamp and you’re blessed with the image of the cool light of the city just outside the window bathing his skin in a beautifully pale glow.

With a stilted sigh you ease yourself down onto him, a bit more easily this time, and murmur that you’d missed him. You’d missed this.

“I know, sweetheart, me too,” he whispers, cupping your face in his hands before using them to slowly unbutton the red flannel.

It falls from your shoulders as you move atop him.

Large, warm hands coast lovingly over your hips and gently squeeze your thighs. He swallows hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and he looks up into your face with a wide-eyed stare that’s almost reverential in its awe as he watches you do your thing.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers, and you shiver, swooning a little with the heady feeling of power but grounded by the intensity of the intimacy in your shared gaze.

Neither of you want to shatter the quiet peace of the moment – nor to wake up Brian again – and so the only other sounds in the room are the rub of skin on skin and increasingly shallow breathing. When you lean forward onto your elbows to kiss him, though, he promptly inhales your hair, triggering a chaotic roar of coughing, sputtering, giggles, and apologies.

As it dies down, he wipes at his red eyes with a final giggle and moves your hair behind your shoulders.

“Hey,” he whispers through a smile, warming your whole being with eyes so very full of love.

You rest your forehead against his, a glow expanding in your heart.

“Hey.”

“I love you.”

You bite your lip over your grin.

“I love you too, Danny.”

“Was the mood ruined by your attempted murder?”

You hum thoughtfully before giving an experimental little grind and squeezing around him. He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a groan, his hips bucking up against you a bit.

A smirk tugs at your mouth.

“I’d say that’s a no.”

“You, though?” he unsteadily, caressing your cheek. “You still into it?”

You give him a peck on the nose, grateful for his thoughtful nature.

“I’m good to go. A good homicide really gets my juices flowing.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Is that so? Well, in that case…” -- he slides his hands up your torso to cup your breasts and leans in close to your ear – “… _Jeffrey_ _Dahmer_ -“

“ _Nope_.”

“Gary Ridgway…“ he mumbles against your neck, nuzzling the skin with his lips and drawing a begrudging shiver from your body even as you laugh.

“You’re fired.”

“Ed Gein…“

You pull his face to yours.

“ _Please_ stop talking…”

And then, with a sweep of his tongue against yours, you thread your fingers into his hair and pick up where you’d left off.

The silliness quickly evaporates as you rock yourself slowly against his pelvic bone, brushing your lips against his and groaning at the feeling of him throbbing deep inside you. He grips your hips, firm enough to show appreciation but loose enough so as not to restrict the freedom of your languid movements.

When you slip a palm down his chest to rest over the rapid thumping of his heart, he covers it with his own and joins your fingers together, his gaze locked onto yours.

Your heart and your core swell when the cracks form in his composure, when he moans against your mouth and clutches your fingers as he begins to come undone beneath you, because of you.

Before you know it you’re shaking and keening softly, trying to keep your volume low and your eyes on his. His own hushed, shuddering release comes right on the tail of yours, spurred by the sight of you falling apart and the feeling of your muscles seizing and fluttering around him.

By the time he drags the covers over your spent bodies, you’re each half-dead. Glassy-eyed and punch-drunk, you entangle yourselves in one another and share sweet, loopy I-love-yous.

And then for the first time in five years, you fall asleep wrapped in his arms.

You both deserve it.

 

***********

 

When you crack your eyes open again an orange glow is penetrating the room’s picture window, floating lazily into the room and highlighting every speck of dust suspended mid-air. You see it only in your periphery, though, because your face is smushed against Dan’s chest, right where you’d left it when you’d dozed off a few hours prior.  Your naked frame is still enveloped tightly in his arms, his spindly legs entwined with yours. Slow, even breaths puff onto your scalp and a steady heartbeat pulses against your nose.

The ache in your body is delicious.

The one in your chest, not so much.

Both are reminders of what had occurred the night before, of the sweet indulgence before the return to a harsh reality.

The morning’s sunrise and that suffocating pain in your chest don’t allow you to prolong the inevitable by sleeping any longer, no matter how you beg them to do so as moisture collects at the corners of your eyes. You crane your neck just far enough to allow you the space to smear away the traitorous tears.

He’s already awake, you realize when he places a lingering kiss on the top of your head and glides a gentle palm up your back.

“Good morning, babygirl,” he murmurs, leaning back to carefully tilt your chin up and kiss your brow.

It crinkles under his lips as fresh tears form, and you choke a little when you take a breath.

“I guess we’re officially Tomorrow Us, huh?” he asks, his tone sagging with resignation. “Do you want some breakfast?”

You shake your head wordlessly and sit up, dragging the sheet around your shoulders.

“Yeah, me neither.” He sits up beside you.

A stretch of silence, and then-

“So.” One word is all he gives you.

It’s enough to light the fuse on your conversation.

“What do we do, Danny?” you croak, fighting the sob in your throat as you stare hard at the mattress.

At the edge of your vision, you can just barely make out a frizzing puff of crazy curls made even crazier by a long night and your insatiable hands, and it makes that pain in your heart that much more cumbersome.

He picks at the comforter with nervous fingers.

“I want to be with you,” he says simply. “I know it’s fuckin’ insane, but-…” Although your gaze is cast downward, you see his shrug.

“How, though?” you ask through a tight throat, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Listen,” he sighs, placing a hand over yours where it grips your sheet cocoon at the seam. “I’m living the dream I’d always had for myself, and I’m happy and _so_ fuckin’ grateful for what’s been given to me, but it feels-…“ -- he brushes a thumb over your knuckles -- “…I don’t want to say shallow. Incomplete? Unfinished? There’s a fuckin’ significant you-shaped hole in my life.” 

You smile in spite of yourself and brave a look up into to his face.

He’s not crying, but he’s close.

“This is so cliché and I’m sorry, but I have _never_ felt about anybody the way I feel about you.” He cups your cheek in his hand, and you lean into it, blinking furiously. “I’ve never felt this level of connection with anybody else, and believe me, I have fuckin’ _tried_.” A small chuckle. “After you, I haven’t even been able to sleep with anybody if I don’t already have some form of emotional bond with them, y’know? You’ve ruined me for other women,” he jokes, tapping you under the chin.

“Always chasing that high, huh?” you crack, still smiling a little and keeping the tremor in your voice to a minimum.

“And I thought those druggie days were behind me,” he sighs, a facetious wistfulness dusting his features.

The moment is gone as quickly as it had come.

“Danny,” you whisper, shifting your gaze down again as you lean out of his touch, “You don’t even want kids.”

“What if-…” he falters, then remains quiet for a few moments. “What if that wasn’t the case anymore?”

Your widened eyes snap up to his and you find not even a hint of humor or desperation there.

“Wow, way to bury the fucking lede…” you drone, gawking at him. “Wait-…what the fuck? What? I-… _what_?!”

He smiles, stuck somewhere between amusement and sheepishness.

“I mean, I wouldn’t just go out and pursue fatherhood for the sake of fatherhood at the moment, but for quite a while now, I’ve been thinking that if our paths ever crossed again and, by some _fuckin’_ miracle, I was given another shot with you…” -- his eyes search yours in sweet solemnity -- “…I knew I was ready. And if Moira is even half as amazing as she sounds-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your shaky question, just barely audible, interrupts him. “Why didn’t you-…” You slap your palms over your face and screw your eyes shut as the tears begin their free-fall. “ _Fuck_.”

“Hey…” His voice low and soft as he runs a hand through your hair. “Please, babygirl, look at me.” You do, reluctantly, and as he swipes the tears off your skin you see that his own have started. “I never -- _in a million years_ \-- thought you’d give me another chance.”

“But you just-…” you sputter, “…changed your fucking mind? After everything we tried!” A wash of angry red on your chest begins a creeping ascent up your neck and into your cheeks, and you tear the sheet off the bed as you stand. “Danny, seriously? I don’t-…”

All the nights you’d cried seemingly every bit of moisture from your body. All the sacrifice. All the fucking Maalox.

He rubs his knees slowly.

“Fuck, I completely understand why you’re mad.” This is said in a manner not unlike the one you would use to speak to a fear-aggressive dog. “And I don’t fuckin’ blame you. I promise you, it wasn’t, like, a sudden, immediately post-breakup change of heart-“

“Then what the fuck was it?” you snap.

He stands, and you jerk away from his outstretched hand.

“It was the result of years of therapy,” he says calmly, letting the arm drop to his side. “Of coming to terms with the fact that achieving my dream was not as fulfilling as I’d hoped, and that I knew exactly what – or who, I guess – was missing.”

“Soooo…you just want to use me to fill this empty spot in your life that you created?” There’s an ugly sneer in your voice and, you’re sure, on your face. “Your rock star life isn’t enough for you?”

He remains unfazed, though, and this time you don’t ease away when he reaches for you, instead allowing yourself to be pulled into his bare chest, guilt for your bratty actions bubbling inside you as he enfolds you in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter against his collarbone, remembering how shitty you’d been to the people in your life – the people who loved you -- for the past couple days as your emotions had run quite high.

 _‘They’re all going to walk away from you.’_ The thought curls into your brain in acidic tendrils.

“Don’t be. You have every right to be upset. But Jesus…I missed you, babygirl,” he whispers into your hair. “I missed you so fuckin’ much. Every fuckin’ day. And once I got where I am and realized it still hurt like a bitch every time I thought about you…” he sighs, his chest deflating against your forehead. “Then more friends and family started having kids, y’know? I spent more and more of my time with them and I just-…”

You say nothing but lean into him, your body trembling. He squeezes you, and the next sentence he speaks against your scalp is tentative and a bit shy.

“The kid issue was literally the only reason we broke up, and-…I mean, if that’s not holding us back anymore-“

“That was the case five years ago, Danny,” you cut in before he can even finish his thought, keeping your face pressed to his chest so you don’t have to look at him, “Everything is different now. We’re both busy. We’ve built our own lives. We live in different _states_ , for fuck’s sake-“

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“So I’ll move up here.”

Your jaw drops and when you pull back to confirm that you hadn’t misunderstood him, you see on his face that he’s completely fucking serious.

But you shake your head slowly.

“Everything for you is down in California…”

“Not everything…”

“Okay, your entire livelihood,” you correct yourself. “And too many people who rely on you for _their_ livelihood.”

“Then come to me,” he reasons, with wide, excited eyes. “I don’t necessarily mean right away, if you don’t want, but eventually. You and Moira. And your mom, if she wants to.”

“My mo-…Danny, I can’t just pick up and move to a different state!” you argue, throat constricting as you avert your eyes again. “Maybe before Moira came along, but with a kid-“

“-who’s not in school full-time yet,” he points out. When you don’t respond, he sits heavily on the bed and reaches for your fingers. “I don’t want to fuckin’-…like-…weaponize your words or anything, babygirl. It’s just that-…I mean, the other day you were telling me you’d love to have more time to write and to be a mom. If you two were down there with me…” – a pause, during which he grazes your palm with a kiss – “…you could _do_ that, sweetheart. I’m doing well – you wouldn’t even have to work if you didn’t want to, but I know you’d go fuckin’ looney tunes…” He grins, enfolding your hand within both of his.

You manage a small smile too, but it rapidly sags into a frown.

“And the other day, _you_ were telling me that you work way too much and don’t even have time to sleep.” This comes out barely above a whisper. “How could you possibly have time for a family?”

He releases your hand and steeples his fingers in front of his mouth, staring at the ground as he chooses his next words wisely.

“Okay…okay, that’s fair…” His gaze shifts back up to your eyes, and beneath the stern resolve, you can make out a flutter of fear. “Yes, life is pretty crazy right now, but I swear to god, I would make time. Fuck- I mean, I would slow it down. I don’t need to work as much as I do. Babygirl…I want to work on _us_. I want to do this work with you.”

“Being a parent isn’t a part time job.” Your tone is clipped.

“I know,” he replies, his voice careful and patient. “Babygirl, I _know_. But I want this.” Easing you forward until you’re standing in front of him, he takes both of your hands and looks up into your face. “I really do. Do you?”

You study his eyes, finding them aglow with love and sincerity.

“Yes,” you say finally. Begrudgingly. “I want this to work out. But I don’t see how it can.”

“I think we have a shot.” He brings your right hand to his lips. “Like you said, circumstances have changed from five years ago.” Your left. “Maybe we can make it work this time. No, fuck that, I really think we can.”

You plop down in his naked lap with a sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, curling into a ball within your sheet as he wraps his arms around you.

“What if we can’t?” you whisper with your eyes closed tight, afraid to even give life to the dreadful thought by speaking it aloud. “Jesus, Danny, _what if we can’t_?”

“Well…” he begins thoughtfully, gently rocking your body forward and back, “…we were friends for 14 years before we ever got together. I guess we go back to that?”

“You had feelings for five of those.”

“I did, and it was really hard, but I’d rather just-…fuckin’ _deal_ than not have you in my life. In some capacity, at least.”

“I just-…” You sigh again. “It kind of feels like you haven’t thought this through.”

He cranes his neck and tilts your head up so he can look you right in the eye.

“I’ve thought about this every single day for the past three years,” he says, deadly serious. “Again, this has _not_ all been part some grand plan I had to, like, win you back like a fuckin’ trophy. I swear to god, I was more than happy to reconnect with you and be your friend again. But this is also not some, like-…irresponsible flash of spontaneity, okay? I didn’t just wake up two days ago and think, ‘Hey, let’s totally turn my world and someone else’s on its fuckin’ head.’“

“…Oh.” Your brain doesn’t know how else to respond, but your heart is swelling.

“ _So_ ,” he continues, tucking your hair behind your ear, “if it doesn’t work out, which I don’t think will happen-“

“Danny-…” You’re fighting tears again as your chest seizes, and the rest of your sentence just kind of drifts out of you, wispy and thin. “…I don’t think I can be your friend,”

In one smooth motion, every bit of his face droops with hurt.

“You mean, if it doesn’t work out?”

“I mean at all,” you whisper, grief rising in your throat. “You said yourself, you ruined any chance of simplicity when you kissed me that night. I’m totally fucking in love with you. I can’t feel that way and be just your friend at the same time. But trying to be together again-…”

“So what, you’re just going to cut me out of your life?” he asks a bit sharply.

 _Again?_ is the unspoken word at the end of that sentence, but you both know it’s there, making its presence known in the silence.

“That is _not_ fair,” you hiss, jerking back and glowering at him. “You can’t plow your way back in, tell me you love me, and then fucking get angry when I tell you it’s too hard.”

“You’re right,” he sighs, pulling you into him again. You let him. “You’re 100% right. Fuck, I’m so sorry, that was super shitty. I guess I was just thinking about-…”

A pained creak leaves your throat as you’re again flooded with memories you’d hastily packed away so many years ago.

“I couldn’t be around you,” you moan. “I’m sorry, Danny. I couldn’t b-… _fuck_...”

“I know, babygirl. I know,” he murmurs, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. “I didn’t expect you to, like, Eternal Sunshine me from your life, but believe me, I get it. I do.” His arms tighten around your body. “It hurt, though. I admit, it really fuckin’ hurt. Losing my fiancée and my best friend in one fell swoop, y’know?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper through tears.

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart, please,” he says softly. “You did what you needed to do to get through it.”

Another long stretch of silence as you perform mental gymnastics to justify all your fear and doubt.

“If we try this again…” you begin, hugging the sheet to yourself, “we run the very real risk of getting hurt. Both of us.”

“I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment, then.” A smile tugs at the sound of his voice. “But I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“What if it does?”

“Well, I can’t speak for you, but I’ll deal with it.”

A thought flashes into your brain, and you lean back to examine his face, wrestling with yourself over whether or not to address it.

You do.

“Amanda said you had to go back on meds after we broke up.”

He exhales hard through his nose, jaw set and eyes stormy.

“Okay, that wasn’t really her thing to tell, but yes. I did, for a little while,” he says. “But that was years ago. Meditation and therapy have been legitimate game-changers for me since then, and I imagine I’d lean pretty heavily into them if need be.”

“I don’t know if I could survive another one,” you admit, casting your eyes downward.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he chuckles, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “Face it, beautiful - you’re one tough bitch.”

You breathe a small laugh.

He slides you off his lap to sit by his side and turns to face you, taking your face in his hands.

“Listen,” he says, his tone firm and gentle. “I love you. I miss you. I-…fuck, I don’t want to do this without you anymore.”

Your mouth twists wretchedly and tears sting your eyes as you circle his wrists in a loose grip.

“I gave you an easy out last night and you didn’t take it,” he continues, eyes flitting back and forth between yours. “When I asked you if you’d meant what you’d said, you could have easily told me you didn’t love me and just-…fuckin’ ripped off that band-aid, right? You could have, but you chose not to. Somehow.” He releases a short, bewildered laugh. “You love me. I love you. We both want to make this work, and I really, _really_ think we have a shot at something pretty fuckin’ incredible. Do we just throw that away? Miss out on that kind of happiness?”

“It’s a lot of changes.” Your whisper wavers as it leaves you.

He presses his forehead to yours.

“I know…” Soft and quiet. “I know it is. Jesus, I won’t even try to deny that. And I’m not suggesting we just, like, fuckin’ uproot right now if you’re not ready, though, I swear. If we had some-…Oh, _shit, okay! Hey!_ “ He lights up and wiggles in place, shaking his hands out. “Okay, okay, I have an idea!” He grabs your hands and you can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. “I’m supposed to fly home today for a short break before the second leg of the tour. What if-…what if I canceled my ticket and just extended my hotel reservation for the four days? Meet up with Brian again for the tour and just have these four days here?”

“Huh…” You tighten your grip in his and study him thoughtfully. “Okay, I really don’t hate it…”

A flicker of surprise and excitement flashes in his eyes.

“I can have this time with you and, if you’re okay with it, with Moira, and-…” He cuts himself off with a deep exhale and kisses you tenderly. “Babygirl, can we please just-…see? Try?”

Your heart leaks a certain cautious optimism into your brain then, and its warm tingles buzz inside your body.

“I can’t commit to anything yet,” you point out weakly, even as your hands start to shake with overwhelming emotion.

His breath catches when he realizes what you’re almost saying. What you’re a heartbeat away from agreeing to.

“ _I’mnotaskingyouto_ , I promise,” he assures you, eyes rounded. “I’m just asking for these four days, and to see what happens from there. Just-…” – he starts to breathe just a touch faster, hardly daring to believe – “…god, sweetheart, is-…is that alright with you? Can we try this baby step?”

His sweet face is so hopeful and eager and excited, and in that moment, your mind projects that face into multiple scenarios – Danny comforting Moira after a nightmare, Danny helping you make dinner for two and a half people, Danny carrying Mo’s tiny backpack while listening to her babble about her day at school…

Well, fuck.

“Okay,” you say slowly, unable to stop the wide smile that stretches your lips over your teeth. “Four days. Let’s do this.”

“ _Holy_ _fuck_ -”

Before you can blink you’re tackled to the bed and being kissed with sloppy fervor. You throw your arms around him, enveloping his body in the warmth of your sheet cocoon as internal butterflies tickle your stomach lining.

“Oh my g-…holy _fuck_ , (y/n)!” His eyes are watering and when he pushes your hair back from your forehead, a small sob escapes him.

“This is fucking bonkers,” you whisper, blinking back tears – and failing hard -- as you grin stupidly.

Each word of his response is punctuated with a rapid kiss to your face.

“I… _could_ … _not_... _fuckin’_ … _care_ … _less_.”

Your laugh is gross and watery as you squeeze him to you, not even trying to battle the tears anymore.

He settles his wet face into the crook of your neck and smiles and/or grimaces against your skin, his back shaking with each hitching breath.

“I love you, Danny,” you mumble into his hair.

“I love you so, so, _so_ fuckin’ much, oh my god!” His gurgly sniffle is interrupted by a high, lilting giggle. “Jesus, I can’t believe this is happening.”

A thought occurs to you.

“Hold on, we still need to do one thing first.”

“Brush our goddamn teeth?”

“Okay, two things.”

“What’s the second?”

 

***************

 

“Mom?” Your greeting rings on the hard wood of the entryway. You shut the front door behind the two of you. “We’re here! Mo, love?”

“Hi, honey!” comes the response from upstairs. “She just took a bath - we’ll be down in a minute!”

Danny exhales a shaky breath.

“You okay?”

He kisses you quickly and distractedly.

“Yeah, it’s just-…” – a trembling hand rakes through his hair – “…there’s a lot riding on this.”

“Hey…” You reach for that hand and entwine your fingers with his, bringing his focus to you as you cup his cheek. If you’re honest with yourself, you’re nervous as well, but you know you speak the truth when you say, “She’s going to love you.”

“God, I fuckin’ hope so…”

“You’re extremely loveable.” You go up on tiptoe to kiss the handsome cleft in his chin. “Unfortunately.”

“It’s a gift and a curse.” He grins, but there's a lot less confidence in it than there usually is, and it quickly tightens into a nervous press of lips.

"You've got this, Danny."

He closes his eyes and nods, just as a door upstairs swings open.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAH! What's gonna happen?!!?!11??!ONE?ONE?!!!11!
> 
> Also, WHOOPS, it's almost 4AM.


	16. Update! (Not a chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I accept reality

Hello, all!

I need to preface this by saying that I have _zero_ intention of abandoning this story, don't you worry (because I know how much this impacts your daily lives :-P).

I very recently got a new job, and I am completely overwhelmed. My anxious brain is having a terrible time learning this new position. I feel like this is made even worse by having come off a job I did for 8 years...one which I knew inside and out. This feeling like I have no fucking clue what I'm doing, along with the stress/pressure of training in person and the super time consuming, mandatory, at-home training tutorials, are using up pretty much all of my mental energy at the moment. I'm anxious as fuck right now, and that's even flat-out ignoring the fact that the position is part-time and very low pay...the pressing need to get a second job once training is complete is looming overhead.

I'd basically had the entirety of Rocket Man written before I'd even posted the first chapter, so posting each successive chapter used to be a matter of simply...posting it (after extensive editing, of course). But I'd gotten a bit stuck on this moment when Dan meets the kid. I have some stuff written that follows it, but I have yet to actually write this scene.

Once things calm down, I'll have the time and brain power to actually sit down and write, but for now I need to take a step back and focus on self-care and my own mental health. Unfortunately, this also means I probably won't have the chance to enjoy the writing of others, so I apologize to those of you whose works in the Dan Avidan/You tag I usually devour and comment on with awkward enthusiasm! :-P

tl;dr This story is paused, not stopped! Take care of yourselves. And thank you so, so, so very much for your support of this story! It means the fucking world to me that there are people out there who enjoy this silly little thing I've made.

Also, HAPPY FUCKIN' HOLIDAYS WOOP WOOP

 

ETA: Oh my god! You guys! I can't believe the outpouring of support this bit has invited (not to mention all the support for this story so far)! It means the world to me that you, these beautiful, faceless people on the internet, have reached out with your amazingness.

I didn't intend for this bit to be a fishing-for-compliments-woe-is-me sort of thing, just an explanation of why I was taking a break after hitting this site so hard for the past 5 months. And yet, there they are...your comments with your incredibly kind words of love and support and encouragement. From the bottom of my heart, thank you so, so, so very much. I love you all and I hope you are well yourselves! :-)

 

<3<3<3


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